Sophie-M.A
You dominate. You infuse me with passion. You take my quaking thighs and shaky breathes and push further. You count the knock of the headboard against my wall, as a measure. The tempo. The power. The depth. Oh it sends my senses on a frenzy. I've lost control. I don't care. You control. You own. You take. You cherish. Your lust fuels me even when I think I can go no further. My sexual need. My drive is you.
Allow me to walk to your door. To knock on it. For you to let me in.
Please let me into you. I wish to be inside. Your warmth is real past these doors.
I want to be welcomed with open arms and legs.
Let me knock.
Let me in.
Bleeding. Automatically connected with something dark unpleasant. The slaughtering, the light cut. The deep cut. The angled cut. The paper cut. The knife cut. The insult that cuts. It all causes bleeding. Some type of discomfort or pain. No one bleeds beautifully. No ones bleeding leads to happy endings or sweet beginnings. Bleeding out is unnatural. The action is unwelcomed. Enough of that.
Whilst I stand against my window pane, I hear the rhythm of the rain. With each flash that gives me a start, each thunder echos within this bleeding heart. I feel it's current of energy. I relate it to how I feel when you are with me. And within each cloud, each drop it cries; it stole it's actions from my eyes.
Is your position in life right now worth talking about? Are the startled gasps from people you knew worth caring about? I feel like I should know. You hear the pity or sympathy when you tell them what is going on. It makes your blood turn warmer and conversations end quicker. Fuck them. Who needs that "poor you. Good luck " Bullshit? Who needs the wide eyed solemn nods and hardened smiles. Not this chick. That's for damn sure.
Overly exaggerated falsehood. Pretentious motives. Embellished lies. You once claimed truth. You honored honesty. You promised positivity. All I feel is a heaviness on my shoulder. I share a burden of brotherhood, whilst I carry a world of untruthful tales. A world you created just for me. It grows heavy. But as I grow stronger as I turn to stone.
She felt it press up against her flesh. The leathery feel of the whip heightening her senses, making her lips swell. She anticipated to feel the hard loving lash against her supple skin. To have it lick her and bite. To arouse and provoke sounds to come from deep within her warm quaking belly. She wanted to be reminded who she was pleasing. She wanted to bend forward and demand for more. She impatiently waited for pleasurable pain.
Soul is weathered. Body is used. Mind is gone. Sitting in the corner, with arms covered in sores. The voices in my head boom, snarl and claw away. It takes a fire hot liquid to sooth it all. I put it in my veins. I almost reach the gate to rest. But I fall again. My soul is worn. It's wings have molted. I stay broken. I stay consumed.
My flesh, once tight and taut now resembles that of an old book. Faded pages, weathered leather. It still feels soft, like rice paper. But it holds the ripples of experience. The waves of time. My smile has a collection of stories within each crease on my face. My eyes have crinkles like the paper fans I made as a child. My body is a ruin. A tribute to my life. Within this worn woman, are fresh visions.
Oooms and prayers echo. Lotus sitting position. On my knees. Meditation to reach a higher place. I feel the presence. The divinity. My senses pulsate. I'm riding on a religious high. I feel holy. Saint like. I give thanks. I shed silent tears in prayer. I kiss the temple floors. Holy holy holy. Silent saints. Booming Gods. Life is precious. Sacred. The sanctity of life is never to be understated.
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writing since 2013 · 14 entries · 8 days shown up
each square is a day—lit means Sophie showed up.
4longest streak
8days written
4.7entries / week
the words Sophie reaches for
bleedingcutsanctityholyagainstreachwishsellprecioussmilelovedeepsensespaperknocksalesman