all you did was
simply and slowly
run them in my hair

and lo and behold !
a waterfall
of joy burst open
inside me and
carried me awash to
depths of ecstasy
i had never been
and whilst
i was still ecstatic
i never saw the coming
of that soft
and surprising
kiss on my lips
which pulled me
out of my depths
and whirled me up
to heights of joy
that i had never seen.
all this while
simply and slowly
running them
in my hair.

how do you do it ?
this using of your fingers
like magical wands.

My dreams dance around me like shadows dance around fire pits: swishing from side to side in so seductive a manner that I am mesmerized by their show. She is a dream to me. Dancing her body of lust around me in an effort to taunt me into submission, and I dare say I'm willing to submit to her.
There is an energy that she lets off that chokes my breathing when I speak and slows my reaction when our hands touch, for she is the kryptonite to my superman, and I willingly dive into her piercing crystals.
From the flick of her tongue, I know she is willing, come, butterfly, I will teach you how to soar as covers fly over over your body and your mind races with the pleasures I intend to lay upon you. Tell me that your mind doesn't get lost in the lust and I will tell you how much I'd love to prove you wrong.
Oh how I long to taste your seduction. On so many an occasion I had fantasized our connection as you paraded in front of me, dancing like shadows around a pit of fire. And I would savor the sight and enjoy the release of my love that ensued once my mind became clearer and my surroundings become empty.
My young goddess of lust. Might I savor your flavor and enjoy your skin like I wish? Perhaps one day when the timing is right, I shall take you down like I have countless times before in other realities and give you the taste of pleasure you pry me for.
Maybe one day I'll pull your head back by the hair and inhale your fragrance as I begin to devour you slowly and enjoyably for the world to see. Maybe one day I'll have you lie in front of me and open yourself for my exploration.
And on that day, I want you to know that you turned me into a beast of lust as built up like the seed I would eject into you.
You have turned me into a creature addicted to your skin. Addicted to your tongue. Addicted to your lips. A monster addicted to your ***.
You shall see my broken bonds as I tear your clothes, you shall see my shattered chains as I ram you with the anger hidden inside my brain and the frustration hidden deep inside my soul represented by the bite of my serpent.
And I shall abuse you.
Perhaps you'll respect me once you get a taste of the hell I had been through chasing you. Maybe when your back is bent, legs gaping and body frozen stiff by the fear of my lightening strikes will you see how willing I was to please you.
And not until I tear you apart will my flame of evil lust be extinguished. Not until your body is red from my pinches, not until your breast ache from the pull of my lips, or until the bite marks I leave you with begin to ooze your sweet nectar of red tears, not until then will I let you go. Even then, I may lick you clean once more and send you into the world a purified being.
You are a dancer in my eyes. A dancer of shadows and a product of the pit of fire from which you were birthed. But once I have your skin in my clutches, the only fire you'll recognize is the fire in my eyes as I make you moan the world away and the smoke brings tears to your eyes.

Her lips are so ashened that I feel the urge to lick them without seduction,
yet I kiss them and don't complain.
Her soul so dry that the rains fear her continues grounds of dramatic dryness.
Yet I continue to water her petals.
Her body so undesired that she barely looks at it. She carries each pound, from her unsatisfied lips and her ample breast to her thickened hips and woodened- brown toes, with a shrug of unacceptance.
Yet I still explore her with the interest of the lustful.
I kissed the lips of this wretched devil and grabbed Her by the backside as the knife in her tongue pierced my neck...
But I let it happen. So maybe I truly am to blame.
After all, to save a snake is a deed or valor indeed, but at the end of the day, the snake is the same animal it had always been.

Sitting alone in the darkness of my room, I allow my mind to wonder.
But the only thing that seems to show is the image of you, and I can’t help but become lost in the abyss of intentional mesmerism that is cast upon me when I synchronize my thoughts and emotion.
Skin the color of ginger Pricked with pepper-styled specs of acne that give her a signature stimulation in my mind. To inhale her close proximity is to inhale the scent of cinnamon and honey layered thick on the warm releasing heat of candles dripping wax tears to stone floors as they gaze at her perfection.
Oh how lost I get in her presence.
She arises in me a need to capture her humility and turn it into a self-worth compatible with royalty. She arises in me a need to hark her easy listening and sway her into the darkened end of deserted dance floors I envision in my mind.
I am besotted by her unintentional euphony.
Her hypnotism is so strong that I find myself mentally caressing her smiling cheeks as we stare into each other’s souls, glasses fogged from each breath but eyes locking as seriousness takes over us.
I press her close and lean in smoothly, one hand clutching hers and the other flicking her hair back ever so slightly away from her lips so that her lips are freed for mine.
I have visions of a forged passion ensuing each moment I see her.
I have thoughts of the harmonious waves of sound flowing from her strawberry red lips.

Is it wrong to crave the innocence I think she has? Is it sad that I imagine her better than my body can relay images to my brain and that I have fallen in love so often with my own interpretation that I don’t speak lest she destroy the wish I have for her attention?
My honey sweet wannabe lover with the body of warmth and the smile of heaven. She is my one true fantasy that I could never do justice. She is the only image of perfection I see nowadays, the only image of contentment worthy of being synonymous with the word, she is the world that I want and the culture I shall adapt to please.
She is my crush.
And I am intimidated by the power that I’ve given her.
She is My-Wish

I hear voices in my head that guide my actions. I'm not crazy, I just like knowing somebody agrees with me.
Around the age of 10, these voices came to me in an attempt to make me forget about all my struggles. They were there through the thin of my lips to the thick of my Gluteus and stayed ever-present through the first feelings the spark of love.
And once that spark was extinguished and I began to shame my body, my voices calmed me and quelled the rising need to escape the gloom. They told jokes. And I laughed heartily, kissing my palm and placing it to my forehead as an offer of complete infatuation with the voices.
But it didn't remain that way. We began to argue in my mind, shifting my action into chaos as I began to realize that my brain had become a cave harboring a snake like a zoo. So I stopped listening.
I didn't want to hear them anymore, I wanted them to shut up.
But they never did.
At times, they would get very quiet just to yell at a rate to leave ringing in my ears, and I would cry at their pains.
By mid-puberty, I had grown accustomed to these shouts. I had even learned to ignore them. And most of the loud voices began to disappear.
But One remained, a single cage to my canary. A bite to my jugular and a constant reminder of the sickness I claimed in my mind.
He only came around when I was upset, and he’d always etch me into actions so regrettable that he didn’t realize affected him as well.
He wanted me to die.
For years I combatted him, cursing him into a withdrawal but then speaking up a weakness that would inspire his powerful words and presence again. Oh how mighty his power over me was.
His very voice sent chills through my spine and blood rushing through my veins. His tone turned my blackened skinned the color of used, sopping wet coffee grinds. The bite present in every consonant he uttered made my ears pop with unease as if the pressure grew under my eyelids.
He was my demon.
After my second attempt at love had fizzled he had been the one to tell me to slash that tire. He was the reason I bit Jamea’s lip and drew the taste of rich blood to my tongue hungrily as if vampiric. He was the reason I spent so many nights up crying in fear as I would chant “What’s happening” or “what am I doing”… or “why am I still here”
His counsel became sadistically acceptable, nearly sexually desired to me as the depth of his voice boomed with close proximity to my heart. I could feel the warmth of my body grip the chill of the air and I’d chuckle like a school girl.
This became my reality, a bubble of sadism sautéed with fear and drenched in disgust. He would addict me to the taste of blood, the color of death. He would introduce me to the feeling of pain and the emotion of anguish.
And I began to love it. I would press pen tips to my skin and draw the sweet nectar of my essence.

Of course, no one understands me. They say I need help.
Maybe they’re right
But every time my mind becomes aware of the hold from him, he soothes me with box cutters and cuddles in the warmth of my skin’s openings.
I’m in love with his deception and his truth. I love the life he has given me and never again will I complain when I hear
the voices