you have to put me back now.
there are always better things to come. she taught me that.

honey i want to lick you clean. from stem to seed. roots and all. meaty juicy mess darling i want you in such sick. wicked ways. torturously sordid. crumbly needs.
babe. dreamer. lover. love freak. freaky love affair…
you just can’t make it ! don’t you try !
getting these silly ideas into the brain space you know you never had. chaotic.

blooming inside me are worlds unbeknownst to you. and when i asked you to ask me questions about my trip. my past. my worlds. you lied down and smoked a cigarette.
as if it were a chore. as if loving me was a chore. caring for my lovesick body.
if i knew how to make a tincture of your scents i promise you i’d never see you again.
woke up toiled and troubled in the sweaty scent of you. your *** still staining my lips. my cheeks. my chin. we had a feast.
and went to bed fevered. desiring. crawling in the sweetness of you.
cradled by the idea of you. our next meeting.

i am somewhat apprehensively coming to you with open hands and a heavy heart. you see, there have been all kinds of adventures hidden in the soles of my feet.
but mostly in the tips of my fingers. ***** under my fingernails. worn wanderers.
passed far far into crevices of non reality.

it is pouring. it is washing away my troubles. it is clearing my head of rubble.
brigades of lovesoldiers. revolutionaries of hearts and stars.
congregants of the sky goddesses of love freaks. sweetly sordid little creatures.

the tendency is to ignore the problem until it becomes more manageable///
how has that been going so far for you, sweet darling?
do you feel the relief you so hoped for? or are your lungs (these doors) being kicked in. leaving you exposed and unready. unkempt and unruly.
switchblade princess. magnifique. petite princesse qui veut avoir toutes choses.
mais moi, je ne sais pas qui je suis, ou je dois aller et comment je peut boire l’eau de l’amour sans devenir alcoolique.

look at me look find relive the stories you wrote on my body.
remember those?
all i know how to do is compare and relive. repeat repeat.
but yet again i find myself in some corner of your toes. at your feet.
neutrality is poison they say. but my body produces enough for herds. nonchalance.
cursed and wasted potential of energies. caught up in the messy web that is him.
HIM HIM HIM HIM HIM HIM R E..pE?***.IO N…
i want to always know you. i want this moment to li n g er__—*
i want him to linger.
cravings to know the this and that of me. the who and what.
and alas, i have found the road i am taking. filled with webs of glitter and gems.
and dirt. and my dear, i am quite messy. quite bruised and swollen from these adventures. these not-so-merry instances. battered into sludge.
this morning i trudged out of bed, stumbled into the bathroom, succumbed to the floor and met the carpet with a heady thud.
floundered apart at the seams. sewn and stitched and ******.
senselessly. he took ice. he suggested it ! he slipped it into his mouth.
drilled onto my belly. cold icy muddled puddle. wet on my skin.
looked me straight in the eye. pushed the tiny cube inside me. watched me tremble.
****** me like he hadn’t in weeks. selfish with his seduction.

when i think of him. i think of the pools he creates.

there’s just something about smeared lipstick. the lust of it. the desire. the carnal attraction of the red my red you bite i bleed. a cycle. lions. carnal mouthwatering beasts. smeared red across my lips across my cheeks into my hair. messy primal smear drag. drag. the drag of it the drag of gender dragged across soft parts. ruining their innocence. marking up significance on soft peachy skin clawed. cruelty is so carefully tangled in with this putrid sense of morality. mortality. carefully putting on something that will be smeared off later. ripped off soon. taking the extra fifteen minutes to meticulously apply the liner. doll up a cupid’s bow. exaggeration. dragging lipstick across chapped lips being pulled towards completion. all sweetly organized to be ravaged.

if you look at these eyes i hope you see happy
because that is what i want you to see it is what i am when you look
when you look into my eyes
i hope you do not sense the despair and the fleeing i hope you feel my heart i hope you feel it deep in your soul and in your teeth

i hope i have taken up an adequate space in your brain
i can only imagine how many things are filling it as i write.

my dearest sweets,
you are a ******* **** and if we were in spain in the 18th century, i’d stab you through the heart with a knife carved with flowers and put a red rose on your rotting corpse.

sweet boy,
i want you in the wildest ways. your core. find out how you tick. what makes you tock, dear?
honey. lovely rough faggy doll,
i am all out of ideas here. holding on to sinewy threads and nerves.
i am all out of ideas and i will keep riding along this path until i find my way again.