introspection

Essence drips leaving puddles

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I’ve dreamed of my leaving
a heart full of needing, and darkness
I’m keening
the life meant for leading
upturned faces looking
for their choices to echo my own and somehow be validated
don’t look to me for encouraging
I foster ideas not to be followed but to stand you up and get you to thinking
so I have companions of thought if not heart
I’ve been lost
and I’m losing all sense of being
just wanting and needing
loving and leading
but always found wanting
but wanting for what
I’m never told

choices I’m making
just missing and living
each dripping second seems to lose meaning
life’s just happening
I say I’m not playing and acting in earnest
how can you know if you won’t hear what I say
easier just to walk away
than explain my falling

you were debating, and I was losing an argument I didn’t know was happening
its all just so easy to run rather than face
but running each time
you start to lose the race
before it’s begun
and I’m just here waiting

planning and plotting for circumstance that may never be
but I’d rather be loving
be burning
be the fire
than to drown myself out before it’s begun
this pain is a nightmare and it aches just to be
but I live all the way out there
all the way free

consequences to actions
countervailing force
ripping me to shreds and I can’t help but feel you are the one hurting
and all I am wishing that you were still mine to help
I’m standing here bleeding
heart’s blood dripping
but it’s you I would mend if I could

Brutal introspection

Pelgris7 Comments

I can never leave well enough alone. I always push, always want more than is there to be had. Some of that comes from a deep feeling that every person I truly care for is going to leave me. If they see the part of me they’ll hate, they’ll leave.  Or instead, I choose to associate with people who don’t want me, or are taken in some way.  Be it their own lives, their relational entanglements, or their mental state. And if, by some miracle, I find someone who likes me, I will push and push for more and more until they have no choice but to walk away or sacrifice their own sanity, which I’ll see and walk away to save them.  I don’t know how to stop this.  I think I’ve learned, each time and each time I fuck up.  Now, the fuck ups are all a little different. But, they are variations on the theme. The happier I am, the more likely I am to self sabotage.

The other part comes from seeing myself as a monster. For the things I’ve done and the things I’m capable of.  For who could love a monster, such as I.  And if you could, why? Pity? Martyrdom? I won’t have love from either. 

At the end of the day, I’m fucked up. And despite how much less fucked up I am now, as compared to when I started this journey, I still have a long road. A long road I fear I’ll never see the end of.

Desires

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The simplest desires are the hardest to feed. I desire touch. To touch and be touched; not sexually, but to be held and told, even if I know it to be false, that everything will be alright. That you have me, that I have you. People turn that into sex or brush off the need but I can’t any longer. I’ve finally, irrevocably, come to terms with just how broken I am. Tears are a regular occurrence. The walls I put in place crumble when the false cloth of this constructed life is peeled back and all I have is silence. And a desperate need for anything but, coupled with a intense desire to hear nothing. Not even the blood rushing through my ears makes a sound. And at the end, I just want to crawl in bed and find that you are snuggled against me. I want your touch, the comfort and joy being around you brings, but I’m not quite delusional enough to believe you, or anyone could love me. But gods, I wish to be proven wrong.

What started as discussion becomes introspection

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There is a marked difference in rough trade. In tie me up tie you down and Dominance and Submission. The former are tools in the toolbox of D&S but they are not the point. I think that people get focused on the physical aspects and this is all they see.

Myself, I like receiving pain. I enjoy it. But at no point am I submissive. I don’t follow orders well. I have Submitted on occasion, generally to become a better Dominant. Seeing things from that perspective is a valuable asset. But my submission was for the scene alone. I wasn’t living as a submissive.

And I don’t crave being submissive to someone; it is not a need for me. But I’m coming to realize that neither is being Dominant. I don’t need it. I enjoy it, but it is not a need. I like being a Dominant to a submissive because they enjoy it. It is a feedback loop for me.

I like rough trade and like being slapped, like nails that draw blood, like pain. But I feel only a need to pleasure my partner. I don’t know what that means. But I like the acceptance of fringe society as well. It’s why I like BDSM, why I like Goth. Why I like artists and poets, writers and musicians. All live on, live in society but are in ways not of society and that makes them more accepting.

I have long Identified as a BDSM Top. But I wonder how much of that is a result of my relationship with Sara and with Eric. Other than them leaving, by very different routes, I would not change what we had. And I would still be more thoroughly ensconced in that life if they were still a part of mine. But I wonder now, if I am still that. Or like a chameleon, do I simply shift to the desires of those around me, taking the pleasures where I can from what they desire. I honestly don’t know.

Drinks tonight?

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The frenetic shift as humanity gears up for one last throw of the dice. One last prayer to the gods of hedonistic delight. Otherwise known as Friday night happy hour.

The work week done and the salaryman, soft and pallid beneath his suit, drinks from Lethe’s waters in the form of cheap vodka dressed up in its father’s clothes. Martini glasses, olives and onions making that Stolichnaya beautiful to weary eternally hopeful eyes.

A thrum fills the air with people throwing out energy, a little too loud, a little too free. Crutch in one hand and a all too brittle smile in the other. Tonight’s the night to have fun or lay weeping in the gutter. Caution fluttering in the wind.

Bound for pleasure, bound to forget, shackled into lives we take this escape deeper into the grave. So happy to be let loose that we slip the cuffs back on in the morning. The crushing weight of a society that neither knows nor cares. Held together by people dreaming in a future that’s long dead.