stare I'm just lovely and I feel like this.
To have my lovely hands grab your wrists and take my drenched rope and make a loop around, pulling up and knotting. You are now mine and there is nothing you can do about it. Looking down into your oculars filled with question and discomfort, watch them widen as my blade comes forth. You kick tremendously for freedom but the sheet is coiled around your ankles tightly and you can only squirm like the lowly form you are. Move worm, move and try to rebel against me, you will not win.
I sit upon your thighs not uttering a sound breath, sitting there and listen to your curses and pleas. I hear your threats. Yet you scream louder thinking that I am deaf to those heartfelt cries. I can hear and have you not yet seen that my smile becomes more and more like the Cheshire Cat with every sound your little mouth and body make?
The growls in your thoart out of fustration and the slight fear. Your body and its sharp thuds against the Earth you now rest upon. Squeaking and lightly shreiking the watered rope goes against your wrists. Your voice, yelling deeply in anger and trying to scare me, yet in your realizations becomes but that of a child's when hiding because of the monster under the bed. All these motions the perfect enviroment for me to bring you pain. Leaning forward and placing my hand firmly on the ground near your neck I smile ever so lovingly, but it is not to try and fool you, just for you to see it. I know it doesn't hurt when I engrave little circles on your body. I know it doesn't hurt when I take the blade and restick it into your wounds and placing the blade horizontally into you, making my tool just a few millimeters from your surface. I know it doesn't hurt when I deeply bring my blade across your wounds in little crosses. In such distress your body cowers beneathe me and you try to hide your face and muffle your noises into you shoulder, where the sweat melds with vermillion and brings a painted picture look to you that is worth capturing.
I see in those orbs on your sweat soaked face, those who love and care for you and seem can't live without you. Family, friends, even in the corner, in the back, a little delicate yet cracked doll of myself covered in dust yet eyes shining brightly not blinking, as to not miss a moment. I tell you and I wipe some dried blood from your cheek about all those people and how I don't give a damn about any of them. I bring you up and place you against the wall and rub down your wounds with salt and peroxide. I dress those cuts and I clean you up, though I still keep you tied. I make you comfortable and I look at you once more.
I tell you about a moral that a person can hurt someone so badly, so badly to a point where one could die. Yet, wounds heal like everything else, but we are still let with scars in memory of those hurt times, a mark a notch in us where we will never forget. I untie you and depart with my last words of hoping I left my mark on you.
stare Momo stare
Can you beleive that wasn't inspired by anyone? Actually it was just something that crossed my mind when writing a sweet but rather odd love story. sweatdrop
 Momosai · Fri Jan 14, 2005 @ 12:08am · 0 Comments |
