Some like to think that there is a demon inside. A darkness that desires wicked things. That wants things. Craves things.
But, oh, I know the truth. It is nothing so easy. So…simple. No demon would want the things I desire sometimes. That outer edge of behavior beyond the outposts of commonly accepted and slipping into the beautiful nightmares of the darkest recesses of my too human, too jaded mind. The things I keep hidden. The scenes that I play out only in the playground of my mind. Because to realize them would take a partner who wanted that darkness. Who was unafraid of both the desires and the dark romance of my heart. Of rose pedals and paddles. Hoods and control. My heart and mind is a labyrinth of doors. What is seen is only what I have judged is acceptable and I will live with that half loaf or crumbs. Rather than break and take all without permission. I know the depths of the monster within. But I have no illusions that it is a demon. No. It is merely my self. Without leash. Without doors. Without mercy. Only tempered by control. And love.
