I guess it's time to start writing again about tragedy.
Like the fact that my love life is lacking.
Pretty ******* tragic.
I'm missing the magic.
The spark.
Skin on skin.
Tongues twist.
Firm hands on my small wrists.
Is it really that weird to like small *****?
I don't even know how to write this.
I guess plain and simply stating,
I need to get laid.
Toys don't do the trick to rattle my cage.
I like the seductive tugging on my heartstrings.
I like trying new things.
Asphyxiation isn't new,
But I like that too.
Slow, sensual, passionately poetic flowing.
Or rough and tough, break walls and stuff kind of *******.
Ever growing.
Ever changing.
Breathing in sweaty skin.
I like that kind of
Comfortable sin.