Cruel – My body wears her marks –

 “People speak sometimes about the “bestial” cruelty of man, but that is terribly unjust and offensive to beasts, no animal could ever be so cruel as a man, so artfully, so artistically cruel.” ― Fyodor Dostoyevsky
“True beauty is something that attacks, overpowers, robs, and finally destroys.”
Yukio Mishima
 
ladyjordison
Cruel her whips of love,
Holding hands in chains
Giving a slap and shove
Cruel her feet lead away
Left with a subtle kiss
Leather and studded sway
Cruel her hands choke and rub
Enduring eager strokes
With angry slick gloves
Cruel her wet licks on thighs
Stains of lips and teeth
Bring to head deep sighs
Cruel the game she plays
In the morning lights glow
Tortured memories remain
First published in Opinionsofeye.com
05192013

Fulcrum –

“There is darkness inside all of us, though mine is more dangerous than most. Still, we all have it—that part of our soul that is irreparably damaged by the very trials and tribulations of life. We are what we are because of it, or perhaps in spite of it. Some use it as a shield to hide behind, others as an excuse to do unconscionable things. But, truly, the darkness is simply a piece of the whole, neither good nor evil unless you make it so.” ― Jenna Maclaine, Bound By Sin
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petitecem
Building my life on this fulcrum, everything I have hangs the precarious balance of needing you and needing to get away from you. Tainted is the air I breath and colored is the pain I have with the odorous stain of you. Pride bends low in wet mornings on foundation decks with those whose pain I’ve far surpassed. They’re hardened, unable to feel the pain anymore, as for me, I just got here, not so long ago, when the crucible of your hot irons scalded me into blind submission to you. I called my mother and asked her when the pain would stop, it’s been years since I’ve seen you. Yet, it’s like an hour ago I nursed the burns and savored the pleasure of you. Songs on the radio bring tears to my eyes, every sweet moment of tenderness I glimpse between lovers brings a knot to my throat, a wrenching in my gut, and a fresh trail of moist sorrow from my eyes that runs down my neck and seeps under my shirt. In the routine of living, where mourning was a stranger, are found new altars of sadness. Shaking from holding back the tears, the doctor says he can’t get the MRI to take a good picture. I’m partying with good friends, but I’m hollow, so I go outside for some fresh air and to shed more drops of missing you. They say, “Quit your whining. Jesus, everyone goes through shit!”, but you know, sometimes the shit just gets to be too much, too often, and too long. I’d not be the first strong one to break under the pressure of love gone wrong. I won’t break and to live isn’t hard, but to love you and love another is the tortuous path ahead of me and a balance I must achieve.
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Also published in Broowaha
First published in Opinionsofeye.com

 

Cloudy In My Mind

“Happiness in intelligent people is the rarest thing I know.” ― Ernest Hemingway 
“Sanity and happiness are an impossible combination.” ― Mark Twain
 

simply-earth

The drop hit me by surprise and spread down my cheek. I looked up expecting the obligatory dark clouds gathering like a group of teenagers looking for trouble, and instead saw the silvery hair of ancient softly graying geriatric clouds sauntering off across the open fields. Wiping the residue of my encounter away, I longed for more so I ran after them, trying the whole while to catch a few errant leftovers. My experience with happiness is the unexpected, and sparking my interest, I chase after whatever appears to have caused it. When panting and exhausted I collapsed in my desperate pursuit, I realized that what I sought wasn’t on the outside, it’s on the inside. It sounds like a cliché, the way running sounds to a jogger, but, I never ran before and the way I feel when I finally do is sweeter than a cliché. So pardon me while I sit here in this field and wait for the breezes bringing rain, coming not from across the valley, but from inside my soul, wetting me with the refreshing delight of inundated joy.

Walk In The Rain

The best thing one can do when it’s raining is to let it rain.” 
fludit

I walked in the rain, head bowed against 

the martyr rain drops
I walked in the rain, the wind directing the assault, 
my skin wet with the attack
I walked in the rain, feeling the dance on my cheek, 
drops and pseudo tears
I walked in the rain, and never felt so alive. 

Also published in Broowaha
11072011 
  

Sheets

“The cool kindliness of sheets, that soon smooth away trouble; and the rough male kiss of blankets.” – Rupert Brooke

nicholaspadula
We succumb to the softly falling sheets, gently settling, as a billow of laughter touches our skin lightly at first, then, holding us in cool delight. Little is known of the heat born as the neatly lying cotton cage begins to twist and flip while we twirl beneath it. We give birth in our playful gathering to memories, touches that last and excite through the night, the dawn, and the new day and days. There is where our happiness finds a purchase, in wrinkled sheets lying on the bed’s corner, falling on the floor, leaving us to cover our nakedness with a dozen pillows that allow our satiated skin, still wet with the practice of secret pleasure, to peek out in childish delight. 

Also published in Broowaha

Fairy Dust – Just a Little

 “I believe in everything until it’s disproved. So I believe in fairies, the myths, dragons. It all exists, even if it’s in your mind. Who’s to say that dreams and nightmares aren’t as real as the here and now?” ― John Lennon

I’m the fairy dust, sprinkle me on your body and things you only dreamed 
will come to reality.

I’m the fairy dust, breathe me in deep and the tingles of the forbidden
will crawl your senses.

I’m the fairy dust, take my clouds and glide in and out on the wet dew of 
my rain soaked paths.

I’m the fairy dust, there is a way beyond your belief into the intoxication of 
now and present smiles.

I’m the fairy dust, sprinkle my adventure on your electric effervescent 
leisure of lustful trials.

Grey – A peek from under the wet blanket

It’s an art to live with pain… mix the light into gray.” – Eddie Vedder
late-on-time

Listen, while I tell you a story of grey. The grey wraps around my soul in a haze of unwanted anxiety, a watered down black, like dark swirls in spoiled milk. These streaks of deteriorated joy cover my lens, my warm blanket soaked with fruitless tears. Feelings are sharp and cutting, nothing is gained by the sorrow. My grey love backfires, I point it toward her but the pain is set loose on my soul. This grey soaks me, in vain I try to keep myself warm in the breeze of cool emotion. Grey is my elixir of madness. I drink deep from the drought of darkness gone bad. Stormy clouds gather, a condensation of holiness evaporated from the lake of my soul, leaving it a lifeless puddle of unfathomable sorrow. Now you know of my affliction my curious companion, my lifelong condition of grey. Pray that you escape its mesmerizing effects and that you with the brightness of healthy hope, avoid this quicksand of a tortured mind.

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