Sewage Drenched Soul

A long time ago, he agreed not to read through my drafts folder. It was important to me, and I appreciated that. Being able to have unformed thoughts of my own, let them sit and refine them, or just forget them...He forgot that agreement, and made a new one--he now reads through my drafts on a regular basis. I think.
I learned this when he said something about one of them. It wasn't unkind, or critical, light teasing really...And kaput. I haven't made it past the beginning of a draft since. Honestly, I'm really not sure what happened with me there...

It is not a nice feeling when the words to give that voice form will not come. Clearly, I've been there a lot over the course of the last two years.

The truth? The truth is, I'm scared. No, that's the relative truth. The absolute truth is that I'm fucking terrified because I have never seen or experienced Alpha like this before. And I've been hanging in there for a while, but I feel like I'm in quicksand, and all I have left sticking out at this point is my fingertips.

The truth? The truth is, I am no longer clean. Before ttwd, I spent years trying to scrub my own skin off just to get that feeling of cleanliness within my being. Alpha and ttwd accomplished it for me.
That feeling, that particular sensation of being, is gone.
I look at the skin on my arms and contemplate the edge of the knife much as I once did, I just know Alpha will be terribly disappointed and beat my ass, so I don't do anything to feed the desire to draw my own blood. I stand under the shower head, water beyond the edge of comfort, before the edge of burn, trying to scrub my soul clean from the outside in. Even though I am well aware from experience, that it is not going to do a damn thing.

There can be a purity in the darkness. Or it can be...Just the sewage of a broken soul. I miss the purity in our darkness, and I am so fucking over drowning in the sewage of her twisted soul. And I'm fucking lost. For a while, after I screwed everything up, when it was too late, I tried to maintain a light within the darkness. But I feel like it ate me, All of the unclean things from past, present, and future, fucking her, collided in my soul one day. It was an innocuous moment, one I did not even notice until I felt that old familiar feeling of a filthy soul, and realized that I was no longer what I had tried so hard to be.

Clean.

He doesn't know it, and probably wouldn't believe it, but that is one of the gifts Omega gives us when we feel him--that purity in the darkness, which we once so strongly possessed. And the sad thing is, that kind of filthy that she tried so hard to imprint on us, is like an STD--it will fuck you up, and if you're lucky, a round of antibiotics will make it go away, if not, you got lifelong, life threatening shit that you can pass along to anyone you are with in the future. It can be with you forever. I'll drain my veins and set my fucking soul on fire before I let that stay with us forever, before I'll spread it to another.

There was a time it meant more to me than anything, that feeling of cleanliness. And even now...Fuck, for so long, it's all I ever wanted, and I had it...And I let in the creature that tainted it.

I'm not a great person. Yea, I like to think that I'm a pretty good person, but I'm not that good...If she was on the side of the road dying, I would keep on driving by. I should be saying that out of anger, all worked up and pissed off--that would make such a statement okay. Because that's the kind of thing people say about each other after they break up, but if it was put to the test, they'd stop anyways. But I'm not. And I would not.
Thing is, I'm not really that good. I do genuinely mean it, with or without active feelings of angst towards her.
For a total stranger? Sure, I'd stop the car, throw on a pair of gloves, and do my best to save their fucking life. Because life is precious, and no one ever wants to look back and say that they allowed another soul to slip away simply becuase they could not be bothered to try.
For her? No. Her life, her sewage drenched soul, her vampire heart...Just. No. Never In any way, shape, or form. No matter what. As terrible as it sounds, I would feel no remorse. And I'm okay with what that says about me as a human being. I know it's not pretty.

Clean...Some people grow up wanting to be rich, or successful, or happy, or I don'tfuckingknowwhat when they finally grow the fuck up, But me? I just wanted to be clean. That's it. My life's goal was to wash the filth off my soul. Scrub the dirt out of my fucking being...The sick shit older men left me with, everything that stained me. And we accomplished it. And it was fucking beautiful. And I fucking miss it.
She sullied us and our connection in a way that I cannot put into words. But us , ttwd, I think that perhaps this time it will not scrub away the stains. And it was the only thing I found that ever could.

Expansions in Perception

Alright, I decided to stop being such a selfish bitch and set my posts so one can actually read them--that white font on black is bullshit. I know it.

Time to snap out of the shit. There was a day when I wrote things that people like Omega found useful, and perhaps inspired shared insights from people like him, which expanded my concepts and thought processes. It's been a while...

Somewhat as expected, that last post was avoided like the plague while most of you likely sat there scratching your heads wondering if I had really finally gone off the deep end for good (though I must say, Jz's response was absolutely priceless).
The concept of "In love" is tainted by Hallmark cards and our belief of the definition's limitations. For me, in love is very much about, D/s yes, but also the simple fact that one truly places the well-being of another above their own.
I know my last post was...Seemingly entirely out of tune with the blog's recent and not so recent history. In all fairness, the beauty of poetry is that every reader can be allowed to think it is about them, see it in themselves, or interpret in whatever way it strikes them personally. The deepest mention here previously was an expression of how far I had fallen, a warning the poor man was never given.
The universe brought us El Mundo Bueno, and El Mundo Malo We fell off the bad side into her, but the good one never left us and we've set ourselves back on the other side of that line.
Omega goes beyond the concept of poly, and he has a girl whom he believes to be his One. Even should she turn out not to be, he is undoubtedly deserving of having One who puts him above all else (he will have that, and we will do anything for her because she will be his).
He is someone we have let into the deepest parts of our lives, someone we have a spiritual connection with, a member of our family. He honestly knows us more deeply than anyone in our lives ever has. And we are one hell of a team out in the world.
We both trust him implicitly, which was previously unheard of outside of our trust for each other. It is inevitable that someone so deeply important to our lives and so prominently featuring in our existence would play a role here and need to be defined by name.

Moving on to newly and un-regularly scheduled programming...

As humans, we have a tendency to allow our world, or at least our perception of it, to narrow. Even within expansion. For instance, when we came out here, the world grew. A lot. But my perception never really let me see beyond the entrance to work (arriving and leaving in the dark helps).

I realized recently that I have somehow managed to maintain a fairly narrow view of submission over the years. The narrow focus of my perception blocked my acceptance and realization of the depths and extents of submission in my being. It has also previously not allowed me to comprehend the amount of psychological conditioning which has occurred over the years, and how deep that conditioning really goes.

When you combine the years of conditioning with energetic based experiences, everything is multiplied. So fucking much is never about touch, and often has a deeper impact than what we see in the moment.
While I say that Omega declined the offer, the truth is--he tabled the physical offer, but we have actually spent a lot of time playing around in that space. He's been present for a lot of mental reconditioning, and the energetic exchange was inevitable for the three of us in those circumstances. In reality, that is the most defining and deep aspects of ttwd--there is so much beyond actual touch...
His presence has contributed in no small way to my increased perception of the conditioning already there. Simply having those previously outside eyes looking in, and experiencing feelings and mental sensations related to somebody beyond Alpha reminded me of the rather extreme intensity of this dynamic.

Alpha and Omega

I have censored myself a lot here, for entirely too long...I'd say this post is a pretty official marking of the end of that crap.

I have been avoiding this post for some time. Life's events have completed it for me though, so thought and feeling now finally make their way into print.

I have thought a lot about names used in Blogland and not duplicating those used on other blogs. As much as possible anyways. It's great how the best laid plans like to bite you in the ass and die...
Funny thing is, the Omega to his Alpha was apparently inevitable here.

Names carry a certain degree of importance. The choice to call my husband "Alpha" here originated from the wolf pack--the alpha is top dog. There are of course, other connotations which did not play part in my original choice of the name--Alpha and Omega, the first and last letters of the Greek alphabet. Alpha and Omega, God as the beginning and the end.

Alpha...the beginning, the one, he shaped me, made me what I am today. He is my forever and always. Omega...The ending, the last one to whom I'll ever kneel, the only other one for whom I'll ever feel, the one who appeared along the way. A forever and always as one meant to be in our lives. Alpha's brother from another mother, as they would say back home.
Alpha and Omega, god as beginning and end...Because on my knees, in that moment he is god. Because on my knees in that moment, there is nothing but naked truth, I'll confess my sins and feed the need. Because while I have never knelt to god as a construct, on my knees is where I pray. And in that moment, he/they are Alpha and Omega. Every time.

He needs a name here because, while the offer has been declined, he will be part of our story. Regardless of circumstance or physical events--I will serve him. The form taking perhaps something beyond what we commonly think of, because service is about what the one being served actually needs and desires, and it takes on many forms.
He is part of our story because never has another evoked such trust in either of us, never has another displayed the loyalty and beauty of character, never has another felt as we feel him. He is part of our story because, no matter what, either of us or our children could call him from anywhere at 2 am, and he would be there; because no matter what or where, if he calls at 2 am in need, one of us will be there for him. Always. These are rare and unique truths, applicable only to him.

Somehow I had forgotten how absolutely terrifying it can be, experiencing the compulsion to be honest that being what I am inspires in me. The terrible fucking sense of horror and wrongness when I'm down and feel like I have displeased, been kicked out of that space on my knees...
I had come to accept it, a kind of disconcerting comfort in my reality as Alpha's submissive. To experience those sensations in relation to another though...Especially one with perfection already sitting at his feet? Life is an interesting and strange place.

There have been moments wherein I have found myself supremely comfortable in my own skin, yet...Sometimes I hate it, this part of me that I have no option but to be, the part that finds me on my knees lost in the need to please.
Where I'll pour out my dreams and sins from within, lay my own heart out in the dirt at their fucking feet...How the actual fuck...? It's almost funny, in a fucked up ironic sort of way...Never. Never in a million fucking years would I ever have conceived of having these feelings and compulsions for someone else. And the lucid dreaming? Hmmm...If he hasn't already, surely he's about to decide that I'm bat-shit crazy.

I woke up this morning sure that I was insane. There was a sense of relief, yes--the way their hug felt, the way he squeezed me goodby on his way out the door, the fact that not only had the cards all been placed on the table, they had been seen and acknowledged by all of us. At the same time, what on god's green earth made me feel like I had to say that to him, in front of Alpha no less?

I have said some really difficult shit to Alpha over the years. Things that made me cringe, want to crawl under a rock, or cry. Things after which I thought he'd never love me again. When you have nothing left to hide from another human being, you can be guaranteed that you have said some painful shit.
The most difficult words I ever spoke to him were in that moment on the mountain, as the sun burned off the morning mist, when Alpha made me admit out loud that I had fallen in love with Omega. And yea, it's been a good while since that moment, and that moment had been a good while coming.

The strange thing about speaking the most difficult words of your life? There will be a time when you top that moment. For me, it was telling Omega that I had fallen in love with him. In front of Alpha. The offer had been declined, he has a beautiful girl who is absolutely divine, likely his "one". But I felt it had to be said aloud. By me.
I woke up this morning wondering, "Fucking why??". Who says that shit out loud like that, in circumstances like these, to someone you both consider family and want to have in your lives forever??

Why...? Terrifyingly enough, because that compulsion to honesty is so deeply tied to submission for me that I can't fucking help it. And because it was the only way for him to know for sure...To feel that this was not held against him by Alpha. That moment and the lack of animosity or discomfort they felt between each other proved that nothing could break their bond. In some strange, fucked up, and convoluted way, it was my gift to them. Because they both needed to see that not even this, not even me, could come between them, or break their bond. And that in itself is proof that some relationships, like theirs, are truly unbreakable.

Service is a concept that I have been musing on quite a bit lately, and I have learned a lot. To serve is not about feeding need or desire as the submissive thinks it should be fed. It's about feeding the need or desire as it genuinely is required by the receiving dominant. Sometimes service is pleasure or acceptance of pain. Sometimes service is feeding someone a meal and promising that one will always welcome and look out for someone's "one". Sometimes service is accepting the fact that what is desired and needed comes from another
And so I serve as what I am, offering the compulsions I carry, speaking to god from my knees and offering whatever manner in which I can please.

And so, somehow, to the Alpha and Omega I bend. The beginning and the end.

I Read Something Today...

I read something today, which said that love is never supposed to hurt.

I disagree

Love is supposed to hurt

And make you drag your heart through the dirt.

Love is supposed to scrub out your wounds

And cause the kind of pain that only doing so can.

I read something today, which said that love shouldn’t hurt.

My darling, whoever you are, I disagree.

Love should hurt

Love should rip your fucking heart out and touch your soul

Any real love will

Love is all encompassing of pleasure and pain

Love is both and the same

Without one you can never know the other.

Love will wash through your soul, and one can never be whole

If joy and pleasure are all that you know.

Love creates the ability to feel pain

And allows us to drown in the beauty of rain.

Saying that love shouldn’t hurt is like saying that love is pretty

Love is not pretty

Love is a raw storm which takes on many forms

Love is ugly and desperate

Both glorious and exquisite

Love is bleeding and dancing with demons

And the knowing of completeness 

that comes in the silence of rain spattered treetops in the sunlight.

Love is crawling around in someone’s filthy heart, when they’re covered in dirt

And drowning in hurt,

When they are at their all-time very worst

Looking them in the eye, and saying

I love you and all the little dings and dents in your soul

Come with your demons, your inner screaming

All that keeps you bleeding

Because love is desperate and foolish and brave

It knows not the bounds of sanity

And shrinks not from the minds profanity.

Love is not saying

I will pay any price to have you

Love is knowing that one would pay any price

To feed the divine joy of another being.

Love is not blind

It is all-seeing

The most beautiful expression of being.

I read something today, which said that love shouldn’t hurt.

My darling, whoever you are, I disagree completely.

If You Believe...

I have pretty much ignored my readers and the blogs of people I care about here for a while now. But I have never forgotten you, never stopped appreciating you, never stopped caring about your stories. I truly do appreciate you, and looking at some of the lasting silence from my blogroll, I know that too much time has passed since I really roamed, read, and wrote here.

I have missed you. And I have not forgotten.

Alpha reminded me that magic isn't something you lose. Magic exists when you believe in it, and you only lose your connection with magic if you truly believe that you have lost the ability to create it. But when you remember...

She Fucking Won

I've written a couple of things that aren't depressing whiny bullshit. Really I have...They're just sitting in drafts because my words got stuck...So yea, sorry and all...

B came in and poisoned my fucking life. The beauty in dancing with demons is pulling them out into the light. There's no light left anymore. I just sit in the dark and watch them chew on pieces of our fucking souls.

It's not this place that's killing us, it's her. We could have survived this fucking pit of humanity okay if it hadn't been for her...

She threw me away like a truly worthless whore, and did her best to hurt him as bad as she could and insure my destruction on her way out the door. She stuck a knife in his heart, set his demons free, closed the blinds, walked out, and locked the door with us both inside.

I don't do it for Alpha any more. Not really. I really don't. And that hurts. Yes he wants me, yes he needs me, yes he loves me truly and deeply, but I just don't do it for him. Even though I've never really been quite enough, I used to do it for him. Before B.

I was offered to another, and not taken.
That other was smart, and good fucking gods, I'm gonna stay away and not fuck him up. Because I do actually really love him even though I shouldn't in the way that I do. But ultimately, that's okay because he'll never know that the girl who left him really isn't the only one who ever loved him.
If I love it, it breaks. So I'll just try to stay away, he's the only one left that I ever truly loved and haven't really genuinely fucked up.
As ridiculous and silly as it sounds, he's my shot at not fucking up, at staying away, at serving in a way that genuinely benefits him, by accepting that such service takes the form of an ear to hear about the girl who loved him, the one who comes in and does the dishes when his wife's mother dies, the one who accepts whatever he offers, even, ironically, when that offer is rejection.
And yea, I know I shouldn't feel that way about anyone besides the one who owns me. I know that. But hey, we all fucked up. The only difference is our degrees of fucked, and whether we ever admit it or not. After all, it's easier to live a lie.

In all though? Fuck...I've never felt less desirable and more fucking poisonous in my life, and I have a long history of screwed up self esteem, so that's saying something.

I talked to my sil most of the night last night. The one that those of you who have been around for a long time will remember because she was a fucking junky and we tried to save her from herself....It's been five years. She's schizophrenic as fuck and other sil said nothing.
Odd as it sounds, she was my first baby. And good fucking gods above, it hurts to hear her talking like my mother in law. off the goddamn deep end. In the most real sense of the word.
And she's sick and scared, and her/their mom's dying, and I sat there and told her that "baby I know you're scared and, and I know love hurts, and yes, I know you're like mom and not quite right, and baby I love you. Never stopped. No matter how fucking angry I was."
And I cried, because she is truly fucking broken and I miss who she was before mainlining became her life and she fell off the deep end of insanity. And I miss her babygirl...We couldn't save her either.

I feel like B pushed us off the edge into the bad side of reality, and there's no scrambling back out. Everything falls that tiny slip of chance into the worst things could be. But it's never really the worst, because there's always more fucking bad.

I'll never really truly satisfy Alpha on my own. I feel like I barely even turn him on any more, and it only works if he supplements me with fantasy. It wasn't like that before her.
She poisoned my fucking existence. And I let her. Begged him to let her even.

I used to feel magic in my veins, the earth listened back, the trees whispered to my soul, I had somehow become clean of all the unclean things that happened to me. She ended all of that. I'm not magic anymore, maybe I never was and I'm just fucking crazy. And I'll never be clean again. To the roots of my fucking soul.
She won--my life will always be measured by before and after her. That's all she really wanted. Maybe that and because she broke us on purpose. Because we were big and beautiful and powerful, and she's a succubus. And we let her suck out and fucking destroy everything that was pure and beautiful in us.

Oh yea, and I hope my sons counselors rot in fucking hell, because my bright, well behaved kids are not the ones I would have called cps on in a city of half a million fucked up assholes.

Yea...Seems that when you fall off the bad edge of reality, it can always get worse.

Not too long ago, I was broken. At the time, I cared about not being broken. Now? I could really give a shit less as long as I can pull off being a decent parent. Which I am. Did I mention that I hope those gossiping, exaggerating, lying fucking cunts that my kids call counselors rot in hell?

You win B--Your attempts at getting him to destroy himself by destroying me have been a success. Except for the fact that I can't hate him for it. And if he decides to, I'll let him drag me through the fucking mud until I die without holding it against him. All the fucking while hoping that I have pleased in some way because that is who I fucking am whether anyone, including myself, likes it or not.

Cyanide Queen

She cried until she had nothing left

Until there was only cyanide inside, somewhere once a sense of pride

Bought tickets to a ride

But the devil’s in the details, because when you buy the ticket

Someone else controls the gates of the carnival.

Empty maybe

But there’s something left inside

She’s made of cyanide and broken pride

Drained dreams busting at the fucking seams

She is me, now the cyanide queen

No respite on her knees, no more dreams of being free.

She is the cyanide that binds to your enzymes

Destroying all of your rhythm and rhyme

She is cyanide, she is me, she is my “what I have grown to be”.

Tears of acid rain

Let them fall—maybe they’ll sooth your pain

I’m the quiet one at the table

All the lost and quite a bit unstable

A lot silent, a little bit violent

Cyanide boiling up inside

Pick a moment, a person, any volunteering victim

She’s quiet but she’s a little bit violent in her silence.

Cyanide queen falling apart at the seams

I’ll melt a hole in your fucking soul

Until you think you need me, say “You complete me”

Maybe the acid rain will sooth your pain

White-tipped eyelashes, taste the salt of broken things

Because the devil’s in the details

And honey, you chose to take a walk in those heels.

They all watched me, the cyanide queen--Satan’s little angel

And my fall from grace, no attempting to save face

Such was never my place

But clearly I’ll have descended straight to hell.

I am the dust of all the stars I was once made of

I am your broken dreams, the cyanide hiding inside

The darkness in your silence, your secret violence

Your filthiest fantasy

The acid rain falling softly on your soul

And somehow still I’ll make you think that you need me to make you whole.

They clipped my wings and watched my fall from grace

Expecting me to make some attempt to once again rise

But I’m sitting here in hell

Got my own seat at the devil’s table

You’re welcome to come on down if you are willing and able.

Think I’ll sit back and put on the matching heels

Settle in and maybe make a deal

The devil’s in the details

The cyanide queen is sitting here on her knees

Dearest devil, do you need another ruler in your kingdom?

A vicious little bitch to brand?

Maybe another left hand?

Or maybe I’ll just take your fucking throne and rule alone.

There shall be no phoenix rising from these ashes

The darkness has become my storm

This is my fucking reborn

I am the ashes, the empty space between breaths

I am

That painful ache in your chest.

Cyanide, she is part of my norm

And when your heart is battered and torn

I’ll be there with my cyanide soul and my acid tears

To melt away your fears

I come not bearing comfort

For I am the passion in the darkness you hide within

The skeleton in your closet of all that you have ever lost

The one who holds all of your secret sins

I am the joy found in pain and the compounds of acid rain

Your pleasure found in pain.

They all watched my descent from grace, kept my wings and tried to save face

I got myself a seat at the devils table now

I am the forbidden fruit on the plate

Your secret hate

So I got myself a seat at the devil’s table

With my cyanide heart, I figure it’s a pretty good start

I’ll be every ride in his fucking playground

When the last angel has fallen

And all that you love has gone on

Look for me and perhaps that is where I’ll be found.

Is It Still Really Mine?

I'm sitting here staring at the page. It is strangely unfamiliar, as if not being who I once was made this place foreign to me. Perhaps some of it is the absence, perhaps some of it is the beautiful and terrible things life brings. Perhaps most of it is that I gave her things I can never get back, and this place is one of them.

I fell in love with people I shouldn't have.
Magic.
They're fucking magic.
And hers is broken, twisted, in a moment I missed it...

I sit contemplating fire and ice, my strange desires and slow burning fires under the surface.
Wondering of what I can now write here.

Is it really still mine? This blog, frozen in time.

I gave it too her...

He suggested that I move to a new spot,and start over. I thought about it. It would be giving up the last remnants of home that I have dragged with me through this fucking hell-hole of a place we now live.
So I'm torn...I don't want to give this up. Yet the things that belong here, the stories that this place was created for, I have them...And what happens when she reads them?

So maybe just theory and cryptic poetry...Or maybe I say fuck it, she went out of her way to make this hurt as much as she could, so if she feels compelled to read and doing so is like grinding the nail in a little deeper, then it's her own damn bad...

The way she left, the efforts she made, to provoke him into breaking me and destroying himself...She wanted to see me left in pieces...She did everything she was asked not to...Maybe I'll never know why, maybe I'll always wonder inside...Why she wanted to know that I cried as she lied.

Maybe I'll be stardust, maybe just rust...

I come here to write, the dreams the moments, the experiences, the feelings...And I pause. Because I know that she will read. Me.
But I'll not be responsible for her insecurities. She didn't believe, didn't listen, didn't take heed; the whole reason she was given this link in the first place. So I think that here I will continue to spill my escapades, all my little pieces of Hades. Pieces of me.

Best Not...

Best not to catch feelings

Best not listen to my whisper in your ear

Of those things everyone wants and is afraid to hear

Best not peek inside Pandora’s Box

There’s a reason I came with locks.

Go ahead

Take a little peek

He already picked the lock

Opened the box

Made a key

And set me free.

The scars on my body

Carvings on the box

Hiding within the sum of secrets and sin

I came with so many locks

Yet he did not knock.

I am the contents of Pandora’s Box

My scars simply carvings on the lid

I’ll spill my secrets, invite you to get your kicks

Maybe I’ll fuck or fuck up your mind

Chances are that it will be both with time

Whether or not you are or ever will be mine

Come on, just one little kiss…

One little slip into me

And then you’ll see

The taste of sound as it spins around

Like my blood on your lips

The soft trail of fingertips.

He’ll open me up and set me in front of you

I’ll sink to my knees, offering to drown in your seas

If you take just one little peek

I’ll find you in the darkness

Offering the acceptance you seek

Freeing dangers hidden and unseen.

I am Pandora’s Box, I’ll free the demons in your soul

Will it complete you, or will it swallow you whole?

I am pain and aching desire for the untouchable fire

Best not to look inside

I have no more pride

I’m simply lost on the ride.

I’ll be your coke whore

Your open door.

I’ll be your midnight phone call

The pause before your fall

And the aching sorrow in your chest

I’ll be the one you kept, the one that got away, and the one that shall always stay

I am the remains of your pain

And the shreds of all that has kept you sane

I’ll be your hope and everything in you that has been broken

You’ll see. When the box is open.

Best not to catch feelings

I’m in here dreaming

Of things both meant and never meant to be

He opened me up and set me free

Maybe you’ll take a peek

And find me on my knees.

Best not look darlin

I’ll reach to comfort your soul

Desperately desiring to offer you hope

And perhaps my demons will consume you whole

Perhaps after me you’ll be broken

Pieces of everything left unspoken, hope left as a dangerous token.

Maybe I just want to be seen

To be loved for my broken being

To use my soul and gently stitch up your seams

Perhaps instead, I’ll haunt your dreams

And torment your being

For I am Pandora’s Box, and he’ll set me in front of you

Open and unlocked.

I’ll be your fucking drug,

Your forbidden love

I’ll be your playground

My moans the sweetest torture of sound.

I’ll be the one who loved you,

The one you could never have

The one who never got away, but could not stay.

On my knees I’ll pray

So for that moment you can be god

And I’ll be the remnants of all that you have sought

A gift that can never be bought.

Best not to peek inside

Too late now

There’s not much left to hide

I have no need for my own broken pride

My skin is Pandora’s Box,

My being all the evils and hope within

The sum of your sorrows and sin.

I am that line where sky meets earth

Unintentionally, I’ll drag your heart through the dirt

I am the pause between breaths

That moment in which you contemplate death

Best to love me not

For my body is Pandora’s Box

And my soul its contents

I have been unlocked

Spilling the contents within

I am the story of your pain, thirst, hope, and sin

I am the sum of everything you have ever drowned in.

I’ll come to chase away those monsters under your bed

For I am made up of the ones inside of your head

I’ll be there by your side when you’re bleeding in the dirt

Swallow all of your sorrows and hurt

I’ll witness your blood sweat and tears, gently cradle your fears

I’ll break your heart and leave my mark

Whisper how much I love you into the dark.

I am the eye of the storm, and it is all contained within this small box, now left unlocked

I’ll hold up the mirror to the skeletons in your closet

Free your demons and let them run screaming

To crash into me

I’ll drown in your fucking sea.

Just one little peek

One little touch

Nothing is ever enough

Best not to look, best not to love

For I am not heaven sent from above

I am Pandora’s Box

And it is best for you

To love me not.