Today Sir, I am in a mood. A sauntering, swaggering kind of mood. I want to seduce you. I want your eyes glued to every movement of my slinking body. I would don your favourite pair of lingerie. I would keep my hair the wild, untamed mess that it so often is. I would paint … Continue reading The Power Exchange.
Category: Text Post
Familiar Despair.
Unblinking. Hardly feeling. Numb. Cold. Another sparkle dimmed. Another light extinguished. Time escapes. Irrelevant. It’s dark. An understatement. Air doesn’t even seem to move. Yet breathing is still possible. Light doesn’t travel here. Only darkness resides. It’s welcomed. It would be easy to get lost here should escape be a priority. It’s not. The crushing … Continue reading Familiar Despair.
A Living Storm.
She screamed into the cyclone. Hair whipping around her face. Tearing at her skin. She cursed the gods as pellets of ice sprayed her torn face. The wind around her swirled wickedly. Faster. Faster. A deadly storm. That’s what she was. Fatal. Lethal. Spit flew from her chapped lips as she hurled curse after curse … Continue reading A Living Storm.
Docile.
You know I’m obedient. You know I’d follow your every command. Your every whim. My submission runs deep. It’s innate. And yet…something else mingles in my blood. Something else demands to be heard. Demands to be noticed. Break me. I want to be mindless. Dumb. I want you to take the very notion of a … Continue reading Docile.
The One Whom My Soul Loves.
Steadfast. Strong. Steady. Weak. Shaken. Vulnerable. Lost. Who says you have to choose? Who says you have to hide? I see you. I have seen the unveiling. I have peeked behind your heavy curtains. I have witnessed the backstage happenings. Putting on your mask of security. That chiseled mask you have been taught to wear. … Continue reading The One Whom My Soul Loves.
The Artist’s Muse.
My body is his canvas. His mound of clay. His blank slate. He can colour me, shape me, however he wants. His rough hands mould me into what he wants. Train me to listen. Train me to obey. His rough hands leave their mark. Their bruise. Their stripes. It’s a beautiful thing. To hand myself … Continue reading The Artist’s Muse.
Day 2.
Sleep evades me. Like two akin magnets. The wheels don’t stop. Round and round and round they go. Like the wheels on the bus. Numbness settles in. Like a long lost relative, finally coming home. Nothing feels real. Nothing feels certain. Nothing feels stable. It’s still easy to hide though. The plastic smile distracts curious … Continue reading Day 2.
Hauntings of the Unasked.
Oh what we would hear if only we asked. And maybe we do, but we don’t really want to know. We don’t really want elaboration. We like simple questions with simple answers. But oh how intelligent we are! How smart and cunning! But don’t ask anything too hard. Anything that will require some attention drawn … Continue reading Hauntings of the Unasked.
It.
It’s heavy. The weight of it pushing down. Down. Down. It’s crushing. Yet comforting. To be wrapped in a shawl of isolation. To enter a limbo that’s been created out of necessity. To enter and get lost. To get lost in the dark reality. And dark it is. It’s nothing. It’s eternal. It’s unnoticeable. Easy … Continue reading It.
Etched…
evemariesaint: I remember how nice his house was. It was bigger, but not a tacky McMansion. It seemed more classic, somehow. I was nervous when I went inside, and when I’m nervous I pay close attention to objects/details: this particular model of fridge, 5 knives in the butcher’s block, 4 burner gas range with convection … Continue reading Etched…
Uncensored Eloquence 