The Little Door – Rage is hidden

“Despite all my rage
I am still just a rat in the cage.”
Billy Corgan
 

Wondering were I got this rage

I started looking ’round the cage
Hiding in the back, a little door. 
Shocked, I never saw this before
Pressing close my ear, hoping to feel
hot to the touch, it made me kneel
Whats behind the door, I’m brave to behold
Rest assured it would soon be told.
Locked! But how do I see?
But soon the door would open to me
Turning away I vented a rage
then I heard a click from the back of my cage
Spinning and turning with a stare
I fell to my knees, all of me aware
The door swung open wide
revealing all that was crammed inside
Memories of things all bad
every one of them made me mad
And with a great breath of wind
a sudden gust that made me spin
to escape from this caged man
jumping to my feet again
I’ll not be captive to anger’s sin
I shoved the door closed with all my might
That will do for now, but then the night
I sit shivering looking across the room
at the little door hiding crazy gloom
I will destroy the insanity
without this rage I will be free
to fly again without a cry
No doors now, in my open sky.

Also published in: Broowaha
09082011 

The Queen – Chapter 11 – Taking out the trash

The sting of the needle, inserted quickly out of necessity, brought me back to consciousness. The gray bearded, decrepit doc had me laying on the kitchen counter, working out of an old leather bag which resembled the texture of his skin. Evidently I was out for a while and as he busied himself cleaning up, I looked over my shoulder, seeing the body of our attacker wrapped in heavy plastic, red smears on the inside looking like a crazed water-color painting. My Queen was calm, her hands stroking the blood, my and his, from my body.  I noticed a strength in me, her strength, unafraid and capable of handling these situations, enabled me, giving me confidence and lifting me above fear. She was amazing, and I owed my life to her now, as she did me for had I not taken the hit, she surely would be the one in water colored plastic. I saw her reach under the counter, pressing something, the cabinet above the sink shuttered and then flipped into itself revealing a stash of items, the most prominent of which were stacks of green, fresh money, the counting straps still banding them together. Grabbing a couple of bundles she handed them to the doc, the street has its own health care system. Letting sleep claim me again, I dreamed of the nights with my queen, her body an escort into the galaxies of pleasure beyond my experience.


The doc left satisfied and we settled into an evening of wine and pills, my Queen drowning my pain and apprehension with kisses down my neck and chest, settling into a rhythm with her hair in my lap. Closing my eyes, I turned to see the body again, I inquired about how to handle the trash. “The cleaners would be here soon, don’t worry.” She went back to her self-imposed task of intimating sexual pleasure on her bodyguard. As I grew closer to the summit of my desire, I recalled that this was the reason I worked my mundane, back-breaking job, to guard her and escape from the listless world that was mine, outside this Queen’s castle.

Related Posts: The Queen,  Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7, Part 8, Part 9, Part 10,  Part 11,, Part 12, Part 13

The Queen – Chapter 10 – The Resistance

 image credit: nahom1

Whispering directions to her room, her voice was scant, forcing me to listen. Speaking softly, she could make others stop their routine to pay attention. Her eyes pulling them, me, closer as we leaned in to listen. She led me to her house, a loft in an unpretentious part of town. The door popped when she opened it, perhaps she hadn’t been here in a while. My Queen had access to many places I’m sure, not to mention the access she gains so readily to the hearts of her subjects. The smell of incense, strong and lingering, permeated her sanctuary, adding an element of Eros to the sultry décor. I turned to put up my jacket, damp from the evening dew of our walk, and bending down to untie my boots, I noticed she was gone from the room. I knew where she went, a trail of garments, first her jacket, then more personal items, her black and lacy bra, her panties stretching out from tip of her high-heeled shoes, all led to the shower, now filling with steam.


Following this not so subtle trail was easy, and looking up I caught sight of her voluptuous body sliding behind the clear shower glass enclosure. My voyeurism was cut short by the steam of the shower rapidly filling the now heated bathroom, my body filled with heat of a different sort. The door was left open, in an invitation that I should join her. I quickly disrobed, the tiles giving a sharp crack of complaint when my pistol hit the floor, in my haste I forgot the gun was stuck in my waistband. I heard a giggle come from the shower, she called out, “I have something to handle that”. Meaning a holster, I thought, however, I was naked now and saw she had rubbed the mist off the glass to peek at my manhood. I responded almost immediately, grateful that she knows how to excite me beyond every threshold of passion I ever knew.


I watched her hands caress her body, her glistening skin a perfect canvas for the long streaks of soap trails. She knew how to touch herself, her mouth responding with open acclamation of passions’ triumph over her body. I reached out to touch the Queen, with one hand she took herself and the other took me. With a rhythm born from an ancient percussion of tribal hedonistic dance, we moved together. Every part of her taking me without reservation. I watched as her nipples swelled with anticipation, my tongue gathering the hot streams of water from their graceful tips. I pulled her leg up in the crook of my arm and proceeded to take deep her offerings of pleasure for my parched soul. She responded to my every move, not just receiving me, but giving me herself. We entwined over, around, under, our bodies desire facilitated by the hot water and the oil she poured on our tangle of lust. My Queen, my queen, you have taken me as I have you. I kissed her deep as I finished, only to hear the sharp break of glass and feel a hot sting drive itself deep in my shoulder. 

Blood spattered across my Queens cheek, the bullet passed through me and hit the tile, a few inches over from her head. With her eyes wide in fear, but hot with rage, she grabbed me tight and pushed me through the shattered shower door, I, even in shock, knew what she knew, my pistol was right by the shower, under my pants. With a huge shove that could only been born of adrenalin, she ran me into the intruder. As he and I stumbled in a frantic and fierce dance of death, she grabbed the pistol and with confident defiance placed it within inches of his ear, pulling the trigger, putting an emphatic resistance to the defilement of her palace. The shot deafened me, my ears were ringing, my mind was cloudy, my vision going blurry, my voice only asking if she was OK. She whispered, her voice strong and controlled, that she was fine but she needed to get help for me immediately. As I let her words lead me to hope, I recalled that this is the reason I worked my mundane, back-breaking job, to guard her and escape from the listless world that was mine, outside this Queen’s castle. 

Related Posts: The Queen Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7

Also published in Broowaha

The Queen – Chapter 10 – The Resistance

 image credit: nahom1

Whispering directions to her room, her voice was scant, forcing me to listen. Speaking softly, she could make others stop their routine to pay attention. Her eyes pulling them, me, closer as we leaned in to listen. She led me to her house, a loft in an unpretentious part of town. The door popped when she opened it, perhaps she hadn’t been here in a while. My Queen had access to many places I’m sure, not to mention the access she gains so readily to the hearts of her subjects. The smell of incense, strong and lingering, permeated her sanctuary, adding an element of Eros to the sultry décor. I turned to put up my jacket, damp from the evening dew of our walk, and bending down to untie my boots, I noticed she was gone from the room. I knew where she went, a trail of garments, first her jacket, then more personal items, her black and lacy bra, her panties stretching out from tip of her high-heeled shoes, all led to the shower, now filling with steam.


Following this not so subtle trail was easy, and looking up I caught sight of her voluptuous body sliding behind the clear shower glass enclosure. My voyeurism was cut short by the steam of the shower rapidly filling the now heated bathroom, my body filled with heat of a different sort. The door was left open, in an invitation that I should join her. I quickly disrobed, the tiles giving a sharp crack of complaint when my pistol hit the floor, in my haste I forgot the gun was stuck in my waistband. I heard a giggle come from the shower, she called out, “I have something to handle that”. Meaning a holster, I thought, however, I was naked now and saw she had rubbed the mist off the glass to peek at my manhood. I responded almost immediately, grateful that she knows how to excite me beyond every threshold of passion I ever knew.


I watched her hands caress her body, her glistening skin a perfect canvas for the long streaks of soap trails. She knew how to touch herself, her mouth responding with open acclamation of passions’ triumph over her body. I reached out to touch the Queen, with one hand she took herself and the other took me. With a rhythm born from an ancient percussion of tribal hedonistic dance, we moved together. Every part of her taking me without reservation. I watched as her nipples swelled with anticipation, my tongue gathering the hot streams of water from their graceful tips. I pulled her leg up in the crook of my arm and proceeded to take deep her offerings of pleasure for my parched soul. She responded to my every move, not just receiving me, but giving me herself. We entwined over, around, under, our bodies desire facilitated by the hot water and the oil she poured on our tangle of lust. My Queen, my queen, you have taken me as I have you. I kissed her deep as I finished, only to hear the sharp break of glass and feel a hot sting drive itself deep in my shoulder. 

Blood spattered across my Queens cheek, the bullet passed through me and hit the tile, a few inches over from her head. With her eyes wide in fear, but hot with rage, she grabbed me tight and pushed me through the shattered shower door, I, even in shock, knew what she knew, my pistol was right by the shower, under my pants. With a huge shove that could only been born of adrenalin, she ran me into the intruder. As he and I stumbled in a frantic and fierce dance of death, she grabbed the pistol and with confident defiance placed it within inches of his ear, pulling the trigger, putting an emphatic resistance to the defilement of her palace. The shot deafened me, my ears were ringing, my mind was cloudy, my vision going blurry, my voice only asking if she was OK. She whispered, her voice strong and controlled, that she was fine but she needed to get help for me immediately. As I let her words lead me to hope, I recalled that this is the reason I worked my mundane, back-breaking job, to guard her and escape from the listless world that was mine, outside this Queen’s castle. 

Related Posts: The Queen Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7

Also published in Broowaha

Before the Family Breaks

“I don’t know half of you half as well as I should like; and I like less than half of you half as well as you deserve.” –  J.R.R. Tolkien, The Fellowship of the Ring
 
 


Carried on the wind of misunderstood words,
Dark armies of thundering adversaries now descend.
Little ones scatter under lightning insults,
Hail threats, and driving strife. 
Not much resistance
Before the family breaks.

See the clouds huddled in poised formation. 

Only minutes until the downpour begins. 
No amount of preparing can handle 
The flood of anger, the torrent of rage
That woefully conspire
When the family breaks.

Look In the blowing wind of change and see

Two shelters still remain, grace and clan. 
Withstanding the maelstrom, 
They set up a refuge and inspire unity, 
Calling us to band together, 
Before the family breaks.



Secret Understanding

“I thought about how there are two types of secrets: the kind you want to keep in, and the kind you don’t dare to let out.” ― Ally Carter, Don’t Judge a Girl by Her Cover
“Man is not what he thinks he is, he is what he hides.” ― André Malraux 

 

I see you hiding, thinking there is no one like you. Embarrassed by your fantasies and feeling guilty about your thoughts. No one that understands, no one that imagines what you imagine. Your mind takes trips, far, far away, demanding escalation and execution of your deviant fantasies. Listen to the tale of two dogs, one evil and one good, both fighting for survival inside of you. Which dog wins? The one you feed. The one you take care of.


Worrying about being found out, you hide those habits carefully. How many times have you come close to being discovered by those close to you? Scared out of your mind, thinking that they know, and then, the relief you found when they meant something else. Now that I have your attention, stop it! Stop it before it’s too late.

Don’t follow that impulse, that desire. It’s not that easy is it? The desire turns like snakes in your stomach, impulses to follow despised cravings that will rob your freedom and your life. The best defense is to not be there. Don’t put yourself anywhere near that hot spot. Stop calling her (him), stop hanging around them (it). Change your environment. Close that closet and never walk back.

But It’s not possible for you to stop is it? Then please, please, do not harm anyone…your fighting it, you want it. It’s easy to follow your urge, your lust. Please don’t do it. Put away that thing your holding. Your hate. Your rage. Your gun. Your shame. Your razor. Put them away. I’ve done it, you can to. There is a way out.

Also published in: Broowaha

So Your Confused About Me – A friends disturbing confession

 “You have a perfect right to consign us all to hell, rector, but you must allow us the choice of how we get there.Angus Wilson, The Pan Book of Horror Stories

judgementalrocks

A friend of mine shared this with me:


OK, yes I am a christian. I was born again spirit filled when I was 14. I spent the next 16 years of my life in ministry. I witnessed on the street. I led a bible study in high school, even sang worship songs in the halls with my guitar. I went to Christian College to get a degree to be a missionary. I was a youth pastor, bible teacher, worship leader, and whatever else I could do to talk about Jesus. I argued with pastors, teachers, other religions. I used my intellect to force many to concede to my truths. HOWEVER, there are two worlds inside me. That world is real, but, I have a horribly stained, damaged and wild side to me that has a rage that is incomparable, a lust unquenchable, and desire to please you that will make me compromise my own identity and security. So, I can see your confused, I help you, not just to help you, but because I feel like I HAVE to. You suspect somethings up, your right. If your a woman, I will likely lust after you. I will show you love, whether or not you want it and if I’m rejected then I’ll go off in a rage and take back all I gave you. OK, so, yes, I’m not perfect. Yes, I’m strange. Yes, I’m likely to flip on a dime if you hurt me and tear your head off. I’m likely to flip on dime if you don’t hurt me and tear your head off. You see I live in extremes. I’m either extremely in love with you, or I extremely hate you and wish you dead. I’m going all the way to help you or leave you lying there. My fault, I am changing though. Here is where my Christianity helps me. You think it a great offense when I say “FUCK YOU” or get pissed and beat someone’s ass or show signs of sexual desire and you mumble how unchristian I am. What you don’t realize is that I really want to hang your body on a meat hook and strangle you with your own intestines. No, really. Do you see how christian I am now by just saying “FUCK YOU”? Don’t look at the little “wrongs” I do, realize that in my nature of extremes, the fact that its a little wrong is actually a good thing, for both of us. Moderation in all things, that is my goal. Sorry if I offend you with my duality, my dichotomy as I like to refer it. But I do care, I do believe, and I am changing for the better. So if you are confused about me, you have a right to be so. So put that in your judgmental pipe and smoke it.