something pulled me out of my tattered demon haunted dreams. those phantoms claw and tare at the thin remnants of what is left of who i thought i was. in there frenzy they bite scratch and savage my delicate sleep, leaving me each day bloodied and broken.
this time, i struggle scrabbling with broken nails and bloodied fingers dragging my savaged sense of self out of Dante's pit. chest contracting lungs labouring to swallow gulps of air. in a panic i emerge into this moment, leaving behind my moment of oblivion.
the time is neither wrong nor right. it is to late to be night, yet to early for morning. so i lay here in this razor edge moment, mummified by the dark, swaddled by the silence of the house.
suspended in this nowhere time., between night and light, this neither time of my life, neither my tormented contorted past, yet not my trembling on the brink future.
lost in this neither world, directionless in a land of no directions, drowning in the gap between what was and what i may become. stranded in the moment between what is and what may be.
i lay still between the warmth of my bed and the chill of my possibilities,
floundering between what i had and what i long for. doomed to this Limbo, doomed to this eternity of uncertainty.
i reach across to find the smooth warm curves of your body, but my longing hands grasp only the empty space of where you were, and cup only the quickly fading warmth that you have left. my hands skim along the the tender curves of your absence and soak in the stain of your warmth that lingers in shimmering sheets of promise. but even the illusion of your presents is rapidly fading.
i am tethered to the bed doomed to lay between your presents and your complete absence and my heart flutters, then sinks then flops and flutters, and i lose my body to the twitches and convolutions of uncertainty and loss.
i try to empty my mind, i try to unwind muscle, and smooth out my jagged heart beats. i lay grasping for control and mastery in this my twilight, between the anxiety of the future, and the grief of the past.
in my torment, in my personal ring of Dante's purgatory i long for more, i long for the impossible, i long for the power to reach into history and alter it, to reach into my self and quickly reversible change. i long for a cataclysm that would destroy worlds, that would destroy stars in its intense flare of molten heat, a flesh rending convulsion that delivers a death and rebirth.
in my fevered longing, in my erotic despair, i dream, i dream of you, i dream of you bound and owned. within my dark visions your flesh laid before me, pail, tender and filled with consuming desire.
in my fevered longing, you are forced to lean forward with hands on the wall and feet spread. your pants and underwear pulled down to just above the knee, and my hands skim there way around your inner thighs then your ass, and then with out prelude your ass is cropped again and again, till shining red welts swell to the surface of your delectable ass, each cheek glows, and your smooth cunt grows from damp to wet.
in my fevered longing my eager fingers find their way into you as you push back and down onto my exploring hand. with your disobedience my fingers and hand are removed and another round of swift stinging bites from the crop, burns you back into submission.
in my fevered longing, my hand flows up to the front of your top, which i pull open so your round firm tits hang out and gently sway and vibrate with each cropping your ass takes. i pinch each red hard nipple, and first tenderly, then harder, then i pinch and pull until you gasp with the electric shock of the exquisite pain.
in my fevered longing, in my erotic despair, that is as fare as i can get until the weight of my sorrows deflate me, and i lay limp in the limbo of my private grief.
i linger in this grief, and the longing which once was a young red headed maid to me, has now become a phantom that claws and bites at me, till I'm tattered and blood runs in rivulets down my flayed flesh.
so i linger in this netherworld, suspended, tormenting my self with longing, knowing that my unspent desire is waisted. it festers like as sore on my soul, which i am unable to lance and drain.
i linger in this semi dark moment and will myself the strength to embrace the altering ever changing flux of the world, i will my self the strength of to direct the changes that are upon me, to gain the strength to have some power over the moment and not to be piece flotsam in a tumultuous sea that is raging.
time ticks, and i find myself pushed into morning, pushed into my mundane day, pushed into the repetitive trundle of my life, a life that needs the strength and wisdom to master the winds and tides of the sea of fate, that need, it seems more that i may have, but i am unwilling to concede defeat, unwilling to be a victim of fate, a victim of my history, at least not yet.
the light breaks, and my day starts, and from some where i find the strength to rise to meet it.