Deep Blue.

It’s as if a snake,
has slithered its way,
down my esophagus today,

a darkening haze,
spills over my scene,
making static in my periphery,

the noise it makes,
sucking down the drain,
until it’s just an empty bathtub again,

genetically hungry,
a deep desire for your cake,
my tears fill the moments and my belly aches,

bleeding your name,
screaming final resignation,
begging for the warmth of your heavy domination,

body in detached withdrawal,
my heart’s never been this broken before,
and it won’t get better til you come back for more,

nothing else much matters to me,
as trivial as a granule of sand on the beach,
the world stops spinning when you step out of reach,

but, you know these things,
how I only dive this deep into blue,
on the days that follow a night spent with you.

Chicken Skin.

 

Fingers creeping up the tingly, naked ridge,

sweaty-static-electric-high voltage,

tacky surfaces of salted-cream skin,

made of sensations akin to each nerve’s end,

withdrawal, elation, tears and satisfaction,

the uprising rebel’s defeated stupefaction,

hours pass with a thump, pump and groan,

resignation leans into the forceful cyclone,

being carried far out by a mean undertow,

nothingness and everything tied up with a bow.

 

 

Nothing.

People have this need…to tell themselves certain things in order to cope with Life (and Death too, I guess). I have noticed it many times over the years I’ve spent as a recovering “victim of domestic/traumatic violence”, the way that people are too quick to look past the ugly realities attached to circumstances they talk about or make reference to in regard to how Life works for those of us who have made it to the other side of such a precariously lethal situation. They seem to think Life just POOF! gets alright again. Um, huh?

Because, no…it isn’t just “all better” for the survivor of violence; and I don’t fail to mention a survivor of a non-violent sociopath and/or narcissist who has chewed them up and spit them out on an emotional level. For me, Life on the other side of that former living nightmare is much more infused with freedom, yes; but not without a plethora of other issues that have been born since I got to this side.

I am not a case in which I remain unable to heal and progress toward what is considered “normal” social behavior; and I strive to maintain at least a minor connection to the outside world at all times so as to not become a total recluse cat lady. However, in spite of the things I do in this arena, the fact is unchanging at the end of every single day:

my ex-husband tried to murder me in a fit of deluded rage after psychologically terrorizing and physically torturing me for the duration of our marriage.

Unfortunately, the absolute betrayal and violation that I associate with those experiences in my past have changed the way that my brain responds to the male persuasion. I am a train wreck in “relationships”; I cannot trust a man on any serious level no matter how badly I may want to; that said:

without trust, there can only ever be NOTHING.

 

Kink.

Americana Injustica

Eyes, locked that never leave my thighs, as I pass by –

parade-rested – ideas nested deeply in your mind;

let stand: up your man, hands down, at your sides;

don’t feel shy – or try to hide –

let those savage instincts over-ride;

Hold, molten to your soul in solid gold, the coveted prize –

cradled tightly – carried brightly by the iris of your eye;

follow me: into Ecstasy, and let your body be satisfied;

don’t act blind – let me ease your mind –

just undress and find your way inside;

Sweat, drips salty-wet, drop erotic tears, in my eyes –

legs shaking – an undertaking of the most pleasant type;

climax; then relax, let your wind fill the skies;

you can unwind – this suits us both fine –

forget the details you’ve been scratching to find;

Time, passes along before I am gone into the…

View original post 48 more words

Sapling.

What does this woman want?

She wants to be secure,

wants to be assured,

wants to feel beholden,

to bring warmth to the touch of her master;

And, what does the man want?

He wants to greedily admire,

wants to be twice as admired,

wants to burn eternal,

to forever sizzle within at the sight of his object;

The equation seems simple,

closeness shall draw the rest together, in turn,

a man and a woman are natural companions,

the admiration one holds for the other,

is not enough – has never been enough,

will never be enough to purge,

from the spirit of the man,

or from the soul of the woman,

the sapling that lies within the belly of both,

grown from the seed of Lust and Blood,

one, the child of Fear and Jealousy,

the other, born to War and Desire,

now together – now ripped at the seam,

the dark hours are the battleground,

on which we strike our most memorable,

and powerful of blows,

to behold the single rogue,

sweat drop as it defiantly rolls

from your brow down the bridge of your nose

and disappears in the corner of my eye, as usual.

 

Syrupy.

My skin’s sticky,

lips are salty,

licked by curiosity,

piqued to the extreme,

  • so syrupy,

my skin’s on fire

desire is,

a growing thing,

a thickly veiled,

  • necessity,

secret thoughts,

I’m entertaining…

 

come down here

lay next to me,

read from your books,

in the darkness to me,

  • tell me stories,

make me believe

in the God,

we both know you can be,

the line gets taut,

  • now I’m listening,

My Lord, My King,

I’m unworthy…

 

…and, this is the language

in your name, I speak.

Bubble Bath.

I thought you’d left while I was in the bubble bath;

So I paraded around sporting bitchy tits ‘n ass…

I wrapped myself up in your freshly washed towel;

telling myself I was glad that you were gone now…

Silly me; you actually never had gone anywhere at all;

I found you standing quietly with your mouth opened in awe …

Beads of sweat dot your head; a crown of liquefied guilt;

Swallowed whole – from all you know; desire you’ve never felt…

And when you see my red-ruby pouting start to pucker,

and sense how my insides tense;  you sexy mother-fucker…

Lick me clean of my tears – salted by such childish fears;

strike a match against the fuse between the filthy and the pure…

tonight I stroke your hidden side – that displaced face you always hide;

Allow me to perfect your view of how a good girl will abide…

you stood there, your hands wringing with intensity;

shirtless and hungry like a pre-meditative beast,

I was yours bendable expendable – that’s right,  wrapped up tight;

And you were yourself – an animal, ever-ready to bite…

the time became a sucking noise from the drain,

you manhandled my body and I hijacked your brain;

I’m glad you never left while I was in the bubble bath;

it’s sad to think about it now after so much time has passed.

.