bustedbrain

bustedbrain

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I got one chance to be a good boyfriend. In this moment of second chances, I think I'm aiming a little higher. Like the top. Where just right writing happens. A full woman, who handles her own problems and expects me to handle mine. I want to be the boyfriend of a girl who doesn't just teach me French or Spanish, but languages. Whatever language I feel like when I wake. (I tried different countries without every leaving home. I'm sick writing. I wake every day asking how long my punishment will be. "Hit me.. punch me if you want to") I might be beast, but I don't want a girlfriend doesn't push me physically. I want to be a boyfriend for someone who doesn't just tap into my problems. Bitch, I got 99 and one of those. I want someone that makes me better in every way womanly possible. (So right now, I'm going to be completely ugly. Right now, I'm so weak. Right now, I'm bad at everything I could ever think of. Because right now, I've never looked better. Right now, I've never been stronger. Right now, I'm learning languages of any kind and studying harder than I ever have. And for the woman for me, this isn't enough. So when I do meet this girl, I'll be fluent in languages she's spoken since birth. When I do meet this girl, she's hot, knows it, and just doesn't give a fuck. Except when she does, she can hold herself up with her legs wrapped backwards around my waist. So she can be my fuck goddess. My mast.) And when she finds me, I'll have worked as much as my talent has grown. Maybe then the ADD and the stutter will leave me.

Stargirl, stargirl, Have you been writing. Stargirl. Stars, girl. Have your new boyfriend. Stars, girl, stars every morning, leftover from night. Have you been trying To move your eyes from the scarred scarlet salvation? Stargirl, from my radio tower hear, why do you only speak in tears and uncompared hatred now? Stargirl, stargirl, if I could tell you the self suffering, condemned by this neverending punishment, your tears could nourish the flowers carried by your shoulders' blades. Yet, whatever it is that controls me, light cannot travel, and darkness cannot see, and all I can share about me are the Cities of Glass in my Mind of Stars. I took you there once, remember? A train without tracks, the title of a book the never existed.. just genetics. Let it draw. Draw of dreams and draw in awe. and a rape that had not happened

allowed shroud cloud proud mound mount month months how many months will I be able to allow myself to think this way

duct

duct fucked bucked and sucked chance is luck, abrupt erupt corrupt and stuck one.

duct

duct like the ones you crawl through like the feelings you can't see through through the bearings through the wheels duct like the tape that I wrapped around your heart like the litotes you forgot ducking duct fucking fuck.

I wasn’t going to post this until finishing the climax…but maybe I’ll just leaving you hanging for a second part “I don’t forget. Do I ever? Turn around, bare your neck your body’s about to get wrecked. Slut. You want to leave your legs spread? We’re at dinner, naughty, naughty, bitch… Stop moving. I’m beginning to to think you disobey me on purpose. Like you enjoy being punished. But tonight’s is pure pain. Hold your fucking body still. God damn it. I’m tightening your collar Oh, I have a surprise for you too. Remember the melted wax I dripped all over your clit? Well tonight guess where I'm dripping it. Painal. I'm letting it dry and crust. I’m gonna sodomize you Aw, your tears are making me harder. Calm the fuck down before you choke and pass out and really piss me off. Mm. That’s better. But I know you know I don’t forget."

I wasn't going to post this until finishing the climax...but maybe I'll just leaving you hanging for a second part "I don't forget. Do I ever? Turn around, bare your neck your body's about to get wrecked. Slut. You want to leave your legs spread? We're at dinner, naughty, naughty, bitch... Stop moving. I'm beginning to to think you disobey me on purpose. Like you enjoy being punished. But tonight's is pure pain. Hold your fucking body still. God damn it. I'm tightening your collar Oh, I have a surprise for you too. Remember the melted wax I dripped all over your clit? Well tonight I'm dripping it across your ass and letting dry and crust. I'm gonna sodomize you Aw, your tears are making me harder. Calm the fuck down before you choke and pass out and really piss me off. Mm that's better. But I know you know I don't forget. "

How can I avoid writing about sultry? I have been actually. Really, truly. To take breaks Lust poetry Are those my veins you were speaking of? I think so I love that lust I've begun my first chapter

Pour ma Soeur A sweet morning that I have owed my sister for too long. The definition of delayed gratification. Even during the day, it smells like cigarettes and urine. The bookstore smells used. The sun's just a little dilapidated today. Maybe it's the coffee. I haven't had any today. I've been a little off, a little angrier than usual. I haven't been finishing my thoughts, just dreamdrips caught in my voice. That changes now. When I write, I write so violently, every single eye in the center of Portland watches me in the middle of the day. When I write, my hand's yell at the audience "Fuck off" "This writer is more important than you" When I walk, I leave foot molds in the bricks below... this is been a real life oneword for my sister, your brother eternally, Doctor Zeus.

Just so you know, I do want to talk to you. I said I didn't out of spite. It's hard to make time to speak with you though. To select the most important things I want you to know in one phone call. A phone call that slips quickly into one with darker intent. I'm guessing it's the same for you, that we both think it's healthy to want to speak with each other. Life is different. Or really, back to how it was. It's not amazing with a cursive capital Z, but it's good too. Oh, and writing. Writing will forever be my definition of Amazing. oneword: actually [read aloud] // When I say I'm telling the truth, I am. I am speaking the truth. Actually. I need a break from myself, I am savage and relentless in every detail of my life. A coffee? Three cups, not one. Black, I don't want to tone it down with cream. Writing? Let's try every word, one of each punctuation, things that don't make sense, things that make too much sense. Every way, every style. Something that the reader can hear in my low, cigarette-burnt voice. I won't claim that I am the first person to try something. Sometimes I do. But I have tried so many things. I have experienced more than a simple, wild man from Oregon should be able to experience. My body has the sensitivity and my mind has the capacity? I guess. And all... that... it's... left me with... is being saturated with desire and wanting and wanting more. All. The. Time. This has been so painful to write. Hand wounds breaking back open. That's when, no matter what I end up thinking, I know I'm going to write it real damn well. So can't I just be satisfied with simple pleasures? Complex lusts are just so difficult. But. They're the only lusts. Simple attraction isn't enough for me. Give me more. ...I need a break from myself. Who can handle me? I'm fucking insane.

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