Better a dirge than bitter silence

devolution of appetite yearning for the next pointless acquisition bleeds into limbs
Lifting and depositing eager avarice into wet red clacking maw
Small voices screaming for surcease
Unheeded and ignored
Self destruction made simpler than devotion
Placed pointless to gain ground
Stolen places and time
Daily resolutions
False hopes as it all slips away
Holding too tightly
All dreams
Die

Sleep filled eyes, dreams on my tongue

My mind lives in a dream
Where love heals and hope is sweet
It flashes pictures of me
holding people I love
Of smiles and our closeness

But I’ll wake soon
Look about and know
Dreams are bitter
Their sweetness lays in lying
In the building of maybe into occurence

But I’ll rise soon
Heart woken
Knowing even through broken
What was may never be
What is cannot be known
And what will be

Unknown
But it will hurt
Even if wonderful
It will be a beginning
It will be an end

Lost in the ruins of failed choices

Heart cries in pain
Mind searches for anything to feel
Anything but this
Grasping for short lived pleasure
Mewling when will fends away destruction
Holding on by fingernails
All the while yearning for someone to take choices away
To force sensation
Anything but bitter broken glass
But callous hands
Offered when the lights go out
When even grey Lifeless
Is better than drowning
Lost
Adrift without tether
Hopes quailed and fled

Lost in mists, hoping for the sun

Pain in not knowing is phantom
Hollow
It fills and forms in shapes of fear
It billows and morphs
No minute is sacred
No place is safe
It travels with
Unseen until the strike

Love dances unbidden
Hand in hand with terror
A child of innocence
Unknowing in simple minutes
Flash fear

Physical distance of if only’s
Choices made for future
Fear
Keeps us from
Those last steps to freedom

Nightmares are also dreams Part 18-Pel

Our friend leads Sara out of the bathroom. His movements are mechanical. Just one more piece in machinery. A cog spinning and giving the result desired.

A fundamental difference in experience and approach. I tend more to the psychological. Into the knowing and intuitive leaps that drive experience forward. The shift from warm and loving to harsh. To complete control. And back to sweet kisses. Back to silly gestures and a kiss to the palm.

Watching him cuff Sara back down and settle her without a caress or lingering touch. Something I’ve never been capable of. Control can be taken too far. Can stifle the spontaneous action that makes one’s heart sing.

He packs up his gear and heads out with a nod. Silence and sensory deprivation are the order of the day.

I hear a murmured conversation at the door and go to look…

Tara is back and she’s covered in grime and blood.
I rush over and take her in my arms.

I ask, “What happened?”
She replies, her voice strong with the soft edge of fatigue, “We found them. Jen is torturing them…

I was torturing them…I thought I needed to. To make me feel safe. To make it better.”

She pulls back, searching my eyes for the loathing she thinks she deserves.

I say, “It never feels the way you think it will. Mostly, when they are dead…All you will feel is safe.”

Smiling lopsidedly, I say, “You had a long day. Do you want to rest?”

She nods.

“Do you want to stay with me or do you want Mr Fox?”

Softly, she whispers, “Both.”

I smile and say, “Well, I am playing with Sara right now but if you can sit very quietly you can watch. Do you think you can sit quietly?”

“If I have Mr Fox, I can,” she smiles.

“Okay. Go cleanup. Then get Mr Fox and come sit in your chair. Remember. Be very quiet,” I command.

Tara walks away, shedding her heels and padding softly into the guest bathroom.

I suppose it’s a good thing we got through the electricity element already. I shudder to think what would have happened if she walked in. As it is, I’ll need to switch a bit and go more sensual. Maybe build up to the harsher things.

Well, whichever. Sara is still getting caned today. That is the midway point and she squirms so much when I do it.

I wonder if Tara will want to try.