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J  Oct 2013
I fixate.
J Oct 2013
I fixate.
Mostly, as a self loathing (or was it loving?) person, on myself.
When it’s not me it’s you, stranger.
Guy who smiles at me.
Girl who stares.
Adult who makes me feel like a kid, and kid who makes me feel like an adult.
I see you, seeing me, and I fixate on you until I can satisfyingly conclude that you either  
1. Don’t give a **** about me
or
2. Thought about me for a moment.

While I immediately want to know what you think of me, if you think of me, I remind myself that I am much more interested in knowing how long you carry me in your mind.
I, who fixates, will think of you often. I will think of you long and hard and I will stop when I find another whose face is fresh in my mind, while yours has faded like the blue in my favorite jeans.
I, who fixates, wonder how long it takes for me to fade in the mind of you, who doesn’t.
Kimberley Leiser Mar 2019
For Aimee's birthday the plan was to get her first tattoo. She was a blond hair lady with a wide bust, huge hips and big *****. Her ***** were one of her best assets she loved to see her body as her canvas her  piece of art; she got her  mind set on getting a rose and heart near her ***** and chest.

She went online booked an appointment in the nearest tattoo parlour to book her consultation to meet the tattoo artist who will be working on this project with her and this was where she met MR Pain.

MR Pain was an  average built man with some muscle tone on his legs and arms. He had tattoo's covering every flex of his body. He wasn't much of the talker in the first meeting more of a quiet and down to earth man. He asked

“ Okay what part of your body would you want the tattoo?”  

“She shyly said “my *****”

His eyes gleamed started to fixate on them as he chuckle

“ well that can be arranged”
I hope you have you brought a design or a piece of artwork with you so I can see a visual design of what you what to have done on your skin”

she took out the picture, he attentively looked at it for half hour and said

“heart and a rose…
this…
could take a few sessions…  
depends on how much detail you want in your design”

He randomly blurted out

“Mmm… I love your *****”.

“More to the point – serious question would you to be able to take on pain? think about it first.

I could show you want you be facing up to with an early demonstration just sign the contract it'll be my treat for your 18th birthday do you fancy hooking up for a drink at my place”

Aimee couldn't see much in the contract the print was tiny; she felt his warm gaze and grin darting around her as she tried to make out what it was saying. His eyes hypnotic and calculating

“Do we have a deal!”

Aimee smiled and nodded she signed her name and said
“can see no wrong in that” its only a drink”

Mr Pain with rasping voice replied

“Excellent!”

Aimee shyly said “should I bring anything with me?”

Mr Pain shrugged

“Nah, I got plenty of drink”
everything we need is here at my place,
don't worry bring yourself
will order a taxi my treat”.

As soon as Aimee got home she had  a bath in honey and milk bath oil. Her ***** were like two huge sunken peaches glazed out in the sun. She got out of her bath robe and placed a long black dress and heels with pink lipstick.  All ready for the evening, she entered the taxi the driver was glaring at her  through the mirror

“You look nice!
“where you going to?”
Aimee gave him the slit of paper with Mr Pain's home address:

the cab driver looked horrified
he silently started to mutter to himself

“that place”,
“another victim;
she’s the third woman this week  
I would be careful with MR Pain,
“I have heard many stories”

Aimee shrugged

“Are you sure?
Can't be the same man
I know ”

Taxi driver shook his head.

“For **** sake
another dippy girl,
what's the world coming to
this is why I hate my job”

He opened up the cab door. Aimee stepped out the taxi

“Thanks for the tip.
Have a good evening.
be careful hunny”  

III MR Pain's Headquarters

Mr pain was waiting outside in the garden.  Dressed head to toe black. His grin slightly twisted and eyes gleaming in the sunlight.  

“Good of you to make it.
Aimee looking beautiful,
make yourself  comfortable.
I will be back with you shortly
I'm with another client.

Aimee waited in the living room for mr pain she could hear random screams and sound of crashing whips from downstairs wailing sounds of another lady
crying out
“ yes master will do what you want”

Aimee was  shaken up by the noise but turned on by the intensity of it all. She laid on the sofa and circled around her ******* with her fingers while doing this she was unaware mr pain was watching her through the CCTV camera. His voice loud and commanding

“I take it your ready for the demonstration”

Aimee stopped what was she was doing
feeling startled by his voice and stammering

“Yes- I - am”  

“Excellent – it may surprise you,
put the blindfold on it is on the table
there will be someone that will
take you through to the main room”

Aimee was feeling anxious and shaken now there were so many things going through her mind

what was the demonstration about ?
Why was there whips and screams?
why was the taxi driver talking
about girls being victims  

“I feel tired mr pain
wish to go home”

“Nonsense you got here,
your not going anywhere
you'll love it”

The figure placed the blindfold over her eyes; led her through a dark tunnel. The room was a cold and damp there were two other girls  with blindfolds being chained and whipped to the wall. Their skin looked as if they had at least 2 lashings a day from the whip there were bite marks and bruises around their body pleasure apparently was substituted equally with the pain. Mr pain got his whip ready; Aimee could not believe what she was seeing around her.  

“Your a fraud, your no tattoo artist
your a *******
a dangerous man
I knew I should have listened
to the taxi driver”

Mr pain voice raspy but more commanding now

“Yes you should have your going no where until my little demonstration is complete
then you can go free ”

He took out the gag from his pocket and placed it on her mouth so she could not speak, grabbed out the  whip and gave her a lashing; followed by gnawing on her ******* and chest;

“You feel what pain is"

He laid her on the table restrained her arms and legs she can not move and fight his advances. He licked her *******; making his way to her ***** licking up and down then in circular movements while Aimee was moaning she started to ***; he then took out what looked to be a huge ***** from the cupboard; pushing it into her ***** her eyes rolled to the side she started to squirm, she didn't know whether to squeal or scream  as pleasure and pain were intensified and felt equal in measure. His **** grew in size with now a huge  hunger in his eyes he pushed his **** further into her making her legs weak and squeal he could feel her heat up and ****** all over the table: he then rolled her to the side and pushed his **** into her *** pushing it all the way in he could now hear her muffled squeals as he fill her up with his ***.

“Demonstration is over; your free to go: taxi will pick you up, its up to you if you return for more but if you say anything about this; I will find you and you'll be back here and will belong to me”  

Aimee quickly put her dress on her. Looking shaken and tired, bruises and marks on her sweat and *** on her too she went straight for the cab. The driver took pity on her and didn't charge her  for the ride.  It was all a distant black memory she didn't say a thing. it was all a blur, a dark secret she was worried about the other girls; did they escape in the end from the crutches of mr pain or did they chose to stay there with him: she was just happy to escape and be free.
Universal Thrum Sep 2013
Oh, But what does it all mean Hidalgo?
Are we to fly in the face of the North Wind forever?

My mind has gone blank at the question.
Stranger still, the story perceived in prescient anticipation of the exact mentioned query once expounded upon spanning millions of miles of eloquent esoteric linguini, wit and charm with a dash of philosophic consequence, to fool you (the eager) into belief.

What is belief Hidalgo, but the suspension of reality, for an adept deeper world of unseen truth?

Do we see reality at all my friend? It is already shaped by our perceptions, responds to our expectations, nay we have not a clue, perhaps the arcane texts written by the hobo scholars of old hold the answer, so yet we settle on the material and fixate it as the lone clear star in an otherwise dark and cloudy sky. Mysteries abound behind the cosmos. Even when we look, do we really see, or are we as an insect upon the written page, crawling over the plain meaning? Is our capacity to hear underwhelmed by our propensity to listen? All these senses must count for something, for God is in a blade of grass, is he not, felt by the trodden hoof of the foot.

You’re a clever mad man Hidalgo.

Ay, the penultimate creator, singing in a sea of song, shining in a wave of light, lost in a dance of fractals, we are all the same rascal, blind though we are to the portrait of man, always creating, same as my neighbor, weaving dreams into Technicolor realities to beam into a future unknown. Our descendants watching us as reality television, mocking our fallibility, or perhaps empathizing and learning through telescopes strong enough to win a foot race with the sun; flying around the bend of space time and back.

The birds of the island are calm today; think they favor a slumbering respite from the noonday heat?

Mayhaps we’ll take a stroll across the columnous muddy bed, risking grey clay mummified suffocation; I dreamt as such. Yesterday’s storms make the journey perilous. My own thoughts leak from the grandiose ether and compel me to genius, the condition of the interminably insane or divine.

My bare feet tread the good earth, the 3rd density, in a daily attempt to stay grounded, however my mind is always floating, receiving transmitted whispers. Sanctified secret musings of the muse. Scribbled poetry of another dimension, meaningless to the materially minded, yet wholesome for the moment. Like a thunderstorm whose power is plain, yet unheard and unseen as the forest falling with a tree. Where do the tree and the forest begin? Are they the same root? Like my thoughts from a universal mind, the zeitgeist of an all-encompassing mood, a social memory complex.

The sophists will claim you are dodging responsibility. These tangents serve only to feed your egoic mind, but put no food in your belly nor rent in another’s hand.

Ay, but its creation all the same.
A tirade of compulsions. The ringing of the hill grows, the natural chorus of bugly unison screaming its existence into the manifold, manifesting itself to the initiate.

For what are they asking, could it be peace?

Ha Ha! Those shrill like cries wound the ears of the prideful dog, but are contained in the silences of the infinite potential all the same.

A man may change one hundred lives in a day, and earn no material currency for his unasked effort. Therefore, who is trivial? I change the wind by simply being, its current flows over me and the endless blades alike.

Vibratory love, what is that feeling, the realest phenomena of all?

Bliss in its own awareness, reveling in self-revelation, actualization, the knowingness of the child who still sees the spirit existing in each of the physical realm’s shadows. The taste of the foul and pure passing without judgment to the innocent tongue. A simple being secure with the wisdom of the wise. Does the power come from you or the hill, inspiring motions, accounting on the page symbolically. Break it down further. Dissolve. ******* into nothingness.

What is cheating Hidalgo?

Is the ant called to my arm by its own volition, how did it find me here on this patch of earth formed into mound by ancestors buried below.

Opening up all channels now.

Death locks the door with life’s key.

Should I let him crawl over me repeatedly?

Ten words to speak before the coming of the night.

Creative Destruction
Awake from the trance
Guns and Bullets
Shoot from our hands
Teller of Tales
Faint whisperer
Of sordid man’s
Hallucinatory waking
Follow the Beam
Follow the beam
The world before this world
Secrets unseen
My best thoughts come
As I lie suspended awake in sleep
Before sleep
No troubles
The curse runs blood deep
He closes the book but still speaks in rhyme
The riddle draws madness
The tongue laps up the fire
Drawn from self same wells
Will and Desire
Pruning and Preening
Political Beasts are we
Lost in our notions
I find, I keep
Braggadocioc Players
Upon the Worldly stage
Every person has the story
Only what is real?
What is fate?
So I lift my hat
To another year born true
A quarter century passed
Play the tune


Am I awaken by words from another man’s sleep?
What is the source of the tetradactyl nature?
My hexagonal heap
Of flesh and bones
Earth and dust
Brought together again by unending sound vibrating ceaselessly
I sleep but am not rested
Eat but am never full
The piper plays among the sand
Whirling in the heart of the caged word
If I keep my eyes fixated on a point, in actuality my vision expands and visualizes all

Reputationally speaking,
I am an ant, with male pattern baldness
We forget to chuckle at life’s absurdities, just as we pass by flowers without engaging the fragrance.


Rest your head with the hillside now
Restless wanderer of fantastical dreams

Treading water silently until our legs melt
Just as the weary albatross cries its last song over the harbor or the butterfly ***** its freckled wings, so too will we see the setting of the sun and a coming of the new dawn. If the chalk works carved in the abandoned sidewalk are to be believed, so must we girdle ourselves for the coming tides and lift our spirits once more for the ebb and flow of circumstance. The bike rides in the gutter all the same, and the forgotten cemetery stone stands as testament to the age gone by.
Aria of Midnight Sep 2014
Infatuation;
when you focus, idolise and fixate upon
the one reason it will work--
ignoring the million others
that dictate otherwise

It is unreasonable
logic screams; reason shatters
yet so heartbreakingly human
NF  Sep 2015
Love Yourself
NF Sep 2015
My mirror is covered in cracks and flaws, and some parts that make you look fatter, like a funhouse mirror, and it clings to dust and dirt and fingerprint smudges of oil.
But I don't replace it.
Because sometimes it's easier to spot the flaws in the mirror than to fixate on my flaw riddled body,
Flaws that aren't just skin deep,
The night is beautiful but deadly.
When you can't see, you have to find new flaws to detest,
It's addictive to beat yourself,
I'm in an abusive relationship where I don't mean to hurt me and I can't leave myself-
And there's some macabre satisfaction in the dependable breaking,
Like I know every night I will go to sleep hating the fact that I am still breathing,
There are memories haunting me from as young as ten,
Things that shouldn't still be repeating,
I can't work out how it just keeps accumulating,
Words spoken
And thoughts
And I don't know if anyone else feels sentences as deeply as I do,
And I'm running out of personality to stick pins into,
Trying to fix myself with voodoo
They say negative reinforcement is the quickest way to correct behaviour but I make the same mistakes
it's not okay that I constantly feel like I'm failing,
But life is more than a high-stakes game
And everyone's saying that all teenagers feel this way
But it's not reassuring to know that my generation is one of lost souls and hate.
And we're all really angry,
Whether it's because we'll be working till we're 90 or conflict left undated
Racism still exists and the Chancellor of Germany is getting called a ****
While anyone Asian is labelled Indian or ****
And eating disorders run rampant through the territory where anorexic girls get priority while the boy who binge eats is just called fatty.
And this is where I insert a statistic to convince you that we're unhappy but I refuse to be quantified just so I can mean something.
And it doesn't let up,
Compliments are uncomfortable and seeing good in yourself is arrogance, criticisms self pity
And you never know if they want to help you or just ensure that you understand the importance of conformity
It doesn't take much to convince someone you're okay.
There's not much you need to say
And if you can laugh then you're fine and we know no one checks the closets for skeletons because they're filled with people too afraid to come out of them
People accept 'fine' because they just need to know that they asked the question,
And besides, deeper questions get stuck beneath my skin.
And even when someone else compliments me I don't believe them,
Pushing away others cause I need distance,
Sometimes I feel sick from the level of enforced interaction but people only see the side they want to see.
When I told my friends about the time I struggled with suicidal thoughts they expressed their sympathies and it hasn't come up since.
Romanticising illnesses leaves me unsure if I am suffering or if I just want to be,
And part of me has to agree that diagnosis and its certainty would be better than the admission that life is just like this
You can't get better if it's something you can't fix
I don't think I'm broken but maybe I was made to the wrong specifications cause it feels like I am missing something but at the same time there is too much of me and not just physically
I am choking on the sheer volume of my past, present and impeding future
Trying to get it together
Told that it's okay if I don't know where I want to go
But in year 9 we picked our gcses which determined our a levels which determined our university courses which determine our career, if we even get there.
I keep finding new problems
I am still haunted by the old ones.
But I'll be okay,
Cause today
Someone told me to love myself.
Carly Salzberg Sep 2010
I entered the world like most of my kind – whitewashed and nameless,
faceless yet searching for a face
to nibble on corn mashed scrapings of my time and place,
just hungry enough to pervade ignorance and grapple at the ripeness
of a more fruitful
truth
acknowledged in a vacuum
where dreams rot and decay and suffocate the eyes,
where an echo reverberates a menacing shriek
that tastes foul and perverse – dried sweat teared in blood
but it stays with me and my kind
alone in the haystack by God and his word
silenced by the power of an unlicensed scripture
these conditions fixate me, us
as they fixate the man behind the whip
as they fixate the land, the family, the working stick.
but I unlike most of my kind
have choked on an inch, and spit up a mile
and wielded a pen to inkblot a trial,
a trial constructed outside the vacuum
offering light, air and room to breathe
in the tangibility of humanity.
This Persona poem is intended to personify writer and slave narrator Fredrick Douglass
Kurt Kanawa May 2014
Sprawl of the nazarene toothslayer,
Nucleotide bombast explosion;
***** of the eftsoon soothsayer,
Pyramid galaxies implosion:
Breathing quintuplicating matrix
Somersault to ceaseless meiosis,
Goldbeating phlanx initiatrix:
Amphimixis apotheosis.
Lifen gyrovagues aerolitic:
And fixate Atlas telescopic!
i am the eggplant whisperer.
I fixate
There, upon its nape,
As you rest your head on my shoulder,
Your hair falling to one side,
So not even a hair’s breadth
Keeps my lips from your skin,
On your neck.

Obsessed
There, below your ear
The long elegant line connection,
To a delicate shoulder,
My cheek rests while my head
Turned, gently kissing you
On your neck.

Can’t resist
There, **** and raw,
So much strength and sensuality,
Connects the mind to the heart,
Focusing where love resides,
Feeling and thoughts collide
On your neck.
Instagram @insightshurt
Blogging at insightshurt.blogspot.com
Buy "Insights Hurt: Bringing Healing Thoughts To Life" at store.bookbaby.com/book/insights-hurt
Sia Jane  Jan 2015
Just For Today
Sia Jane Jan 2015
abuse trigger*

In my end is my beginning
-T.S. Eliot-

   I distinctly remember the night I decided to get better. I mean once and for all better. On Monday 19th January 2004, at a few minutes past midnight, here, the real story began. I took a deep breath, trusted my instincts, and let myself go. I let myself taste the other side. I let myself fly freely around my environment. I looked in the mirror, removed the mask, and allowed myself to see my own reflection. And I spoke;
“You will do this. And it will start now.”*
   My mask I wore throughout the endless rapes and sodomizing, were what kept me alive, kept me breathing. Each day and week passed, each morning I would rise, fixate the mask, and go on. Until I no longer could go on in that way. The crash ended before it had even begun. Breathe through the pain, no pain no gain, pain is what allows you to know you are alive. This is how I survived the years of torment inflicted on myself. I re-enacted all the pain on myself in order to know I was alive. I took what I hated of him and made it a part of myself. But in 2004 that ended. I chose to walk a different path. I chose to recover.
   Engaging with this topic has given me hope. I know that the future holds something amazing for me. I know that this is what living is. I know this is what freedom tastes like. I love the taste of the rain on my face, the light that shines through the night, and the feeling of well being throughout my whole self.
  In **** and ****** abuse you are left hating your body. You blame yourself, and you hurt yourself as a way of reclaiming the body that another took. Your body becomes disconnected from you, it becomes "another", it becomes a "thing.”

   In Greek Mythology, Persephone is the goddess of spring. According to her story, she was abducted, ***** and taken to the underworld by Hades, the lord of the underworld. When her mother, Demeter, found out what had happened to Persephone, she convinced Zeus to force Hades to release her. Before Persephone could leave, Hades made her eat a pomegranate, which meant that she would have to return to the underworld for one-third of the year. According to the legend, the time Persephone spends in the underworld is the time in which there is winter on the earth. Because Persephone made it out of the underworld, she can be called the first survivor.
As survivors we can take comfort from the knowledge that although winter is hard, there is always spring around the corner.

© Sia Jane (2007)
It has been ELEVEN years.
It is now 2015. I am 8 months sober.
My life was a miracle when I wrote this in 2007.
I was reflecting on the miracle of where I was then.
Now I am where I am today.
Just for today I am happy, free, sober and alive.
One Day at A Time.
Olivia Daniels Jan 2019
She leaves a trail of broken heart
in her wake.
Like the River Styx, but
very much alive.

On the outside,
one would look at her and say
she's a faerie nymph
flighty, giddy and naive.

She treats boys like playthings-
they would say,
draw them to her and spit them out
her pixie pranks bereft of benevolence.

They are Theseus and Leucippus
heroes victimized by false love
they say,
the underdogs.
She is to blame.

On the inside, however,
it's a different story.
They fixate on her,
fall in love without consulting her first.

To them,
consent is an idea
and an abstract any-thing.
Something to be taken lightly or disregarded

You see,
consent is more than a verbal yes
and consent is more than ****** thing.

Consent is communicating your intent
before acting on it
and getting permission.

So it should be the same with falling in love.
No one owes anyone anything.
Best friend, dark loner type, new boy/girl in your life,
consider this before you vilify someone
for what they don't feel.
Polished off the filler rods
now lifes got me dreaming
soley about the silver lining
the spooning of the woman on the moon
Keep mapping the schematic, the big move
heading straight to the oil soaked cash
Ready again to make the great dash
This time I'll save my dimes
for those unavoidable hard times
I'll pile it under my matress
a secrete stash thats all mine
Work my *** to the bone
by welding up a storm
Sitting all leathered up
on my light weaver throne
To meditate and consentrate
on 13 times the suns bright
Keep the eyes focused and fixate
count to ten when the mechanics frustrate
Troubleshoot the lines of life
fix the issue then
collect the lute.
Mark Lecuona  May 2015
A Dancer
Mark Lecuona May 2015
She was not interested in what was obvious
Her ego required nuance and sophistication
A life devoted to a cause will die with it
For what is achievement without a fragile peace?

Though the tide comes and goes, what lingers,
glistening post cards, confounding swimmer and
marine life alike, becomes the current and not
where the moon may ****** itself in the night

Applause in the middle of her dance of love
will not lift her spirits; to them, she has made
love to them and to her she has only found herself
for a brief moment while they became the ocean

She could never believe life was like that; art only
interested the patrons in this way, but her dancing
was not about what they would imagine was
perfect in her heart; only that it was not; it was not

The release of birds from the hands of those who
cried over their captivity was not of liberation, but
instead of shoes that required no hand or mind to
place them where nature intended them to be

She was unable to fixate upon comfort without pause
Life was anger and sadness that a smile knew too well
It was in her moment of triumph that tragedy met her eyes
And as her heart died she became the fantasy they paid for

— The End —