Just running through my head
Life is a series of disappointing events stretching out to the horizon
Stacked one on one until the last kills
Each day is a pointless stumble from one meaningless task to the next
And each moment we struggle to free ourselves results in just one more cinching of the noose
Each action crumbles into paralysis
Breaking ourselves open
Searching in the blood and offal for some shred of hope
Finding the one pearl that seems to give meaning
Right up until it crumbles and blows away
Never what you thought it was
And having known hope where before was only bland continuance
Pushed into despair
Each fight to the surface
To glimpse the reflected sun of hope
Ends in the deep water reclaiming you
Until the only action left is to drown with something like dignity
Her eyes tunnel into mine. A look of concentration and adoration pouring out coupled with a growing desperation. The soft flesh over iron meeting the eager pressure of softly parted lip. Shaft pushing into the warm and wet of an increasingly slobbery mouth. Her tongue pressed and exploring the pulsing quiver. The panic creeping in as each second passes with less air than she needs.
I pull her off my cock and allow the ragged gasps. Drool pooling on breasts and body paint runneled, ruined. Once I’m sure she can breathe, I gather a fistful of silken hair and force my way back into her mouth. Pushing myself and her until I feel the resistance at the back of her throat. She’s sucking hard and tongue is beating frantic like a hummingbird against me.
Something about using her mouth like a cock sleeve and her eagerness and obvious need for this rough treatment, makes me jump and quiver. Until, at last, holding her, cum shoots out, coating her tongue and mouth in the fruits of our desires. I pull her off and she collapses. I watch as she swallow and gasps for air.
“Sara,” I say, “clean me up.”
Sara sinks down beside our messy gasping fox and begins slowly lapping at my cock and balls. Sucking and licking every inch until all of the slobber and cum are gone.
Leaving me glistening and erect.
Sara waits patiently and Tara composes herself. Arraigning her posture to match Sara’s contemplative waiting.
Eyes forward, kneeling, buttocks resting and folded against thighs.
I reach out for Tara’s hand. She hesitates for the barest second and reaches up. Roughly grasping her hand I pull her to her feet and bend her back over the sink. Pressing my erectness into the soft flesh of her pelvis. I grasp her throat in my hand, pressing lightly against arteries, lightly cutting off oxygen.
I lean down and whisper against her ear, in a fierce growl, half mad from need and pride, “Mine.”
Ready for our shower.
Those glances you’ll never know the cause of
Those whispers you’ll never know the content of
Whips and chains
Driving us to inevitable conclusions in a me centric world
People don’t give a fuck
Those whispers aren’t about you
Those glances are caused by movement out the corner of the eye and evolutionary biases
But we all clamor to be the center of the world even if that attention we get is negative
A justification for our actions
For our selfish acts
When all that’s needed is that moment of freedom that persists between obligations
That moment of acceptance when they smile and you feel that warm down to your toes and along your spine
But we keep persuing those unreachable goals not out of desire but from empty drive
To reach heights that others cannot and look down knowing you are triumphant
Such goals that feed only the jones’ only work for the heart blind fools and the slipshod illness of ego
But still we all want a little something we don’t have
Thinking it’s acquisition will fill some void
Feeding folded paper as if it were wood to the soft flames
Feeling empty and needing one more pill, one more drink, one more Coach bag, one more
Until nothing is enough
Not even food
Not even love
It all pales beside that addiction
Words flee the press of day
All hopes drain out
Until we break
And give up on the old
And start a new life
Inhabiting an old shell
But we are never the same
And old roads can never be tread
The future calls
And the endless possible
Free from more ambition than a beautiful breath
Choices to be made
This calm frission
Edging out to storm wracked sky’s
Give way to dappled rain
Life flows from a single kiss
The echo of a love found
In the quiet places
Of a heart forced still
A soft note
A note carried in the heart
Raised in voice
A song heard
Eyes turn again
And back to you again
And swirl into arms
Though pain paints its own picture
Choices back to her again
Eyes possess her all
I must be a creature of love. It is a necessity. Because I am immortal. And skipping through the centuries with only duty and a love of nice things leads to emptiness and madness. I’ve seen it over and over again as the priests and warriors I’ve known have fallen away. Unable to take one more incarnation, one more trip the to this aetheric. It is what allows me to weather the centuries and while I am often in pain or in pieces, still, I endure and it is because of love that I do so.
Across the vast distance of the possible
Of the future
Waiting for the pressure wave
Until, of a sudden, it is upon us
We run and decry
How could we have seen this coming?
I’ve been waiting in the bathroom for a long time. The shower pounds against the tiles in staccato bursts. The air is heavy with steam and the floor length mirror is completely obscured. This room has become its own pocket world. The world outside falls away and I am alone. I haven’t felt like this in a long time. Alone, quiet, and safe.
My mind plays back the parade of boyfriends who hurt me. Who raped me in the guise of being a good slave. Who hurt me over and over again until they left. And I went looking for a new master.
I can feel myself shaking and shivering. Sometimes, when I remember, I feel as lost and alone as when I was with them. And sometimes I feel like that’s what I want. That pain and the total loss of control. To know that the man standing over you could rip into your flesh and you would beg and scream and he would smile.
Sometimes I wish Pel would destroy me. Would leave me a bloody sobbing mess. He refuses. Says I’m not ready. Says he won’t be lumped in with my abusers. It’s only in the quiet that I can admit that I’m waiting for him to turn. To prove that this is all just one long setup, that he only builds me up to later break me.
When Sara is around or Pel is in the room, I can never see that happening. But I’ve admitted it to our therapist, in a one on one session. She says it’s normal. Normal to expect the behavior of people who have hurt us in the past, to be the same behavior that we’ll always get. But that doing so, when all evidence to the contrary is presented, is self destructive. And it’s gotten better.
I think that as awful as the morning was. As monstrous as killing and torturing one of the Circles breakers was…it was the right thing. It has separated the past from the present. Put a period to the life I lived before and showed me who I am. Strong. Capable.
I turn to the sudden cold rush of air and see Pel standing there. Nude but never naked. Sara is peaking out from behind him, mouth open, showing the reason he was delayed. The white foam of saliva and seed disappears as she swallows it all.
My eyes wander to Pels cock. The shaft erect and pulsing.
Sara’s dark voice purrs out, “I’ve saved some for you my love.”
I look between Sara and Pel. Sara, mischievous and indulgent. Pel, calm and waiting, but a dark eagerness sitting just inside his eys.
I sink to my knees, the soft bath mat cushioning. I slide my mouth down the hard length of him, tongue pushing against his pulse. My eyes cast upward, asking for permission. Pel nods.
I pull my mouth away. Hesitant. I ask, “Sir, will you please fuck my mouth.”
Pel looks a bit surprised. It’s the first time I’ve asked for brutal treatment. He pauses long enough that I’m sure I’ll be denied.
Then, his cock is pushing its way back into my mouth. Slamming against the back of my throat and I hear the tiger growl of “Yes. Mine.”
Is it folly to love deeply?
To break bread with heartache in the slim hope of a tomorrow not promised?
To drink from the cup of dreams
Our love burns now
A fire unquenched
A conflagration which itself ignites and births forth a sun
And still I fear
For life has taught me that I fail
No matter how deep
And too often quenched before mine own
Or maybe not this time
Maybe in each other we are found
I am a fool of hope
Painting pictures in my blood
And soon joined
“How will I ever let you go?”
Whispers the dark liar
“She won’t want you”
I don’t need assurance
I’m no fading flower waiting to be perked up
I need her by my side
My champion, my conqueror,