nothing's ever happened

And so the insensitive prospect of truth comes out
as you roll to the other side of the bed
and sink in your dreams of distance

I suffer.

The minute I decided to believe, to trust
that's the exact time of my death:
I failed at existing and sticking to what I am
In essence.

You betrayed me.

Not the romantic way. No love bullshit. I'm talking about using words to get what you want
I'm talking about misleading the hopeful folk who seek comfort when life's shit.
You just took advantage of my weakness.
my only moment of humanism, of bareness.

I still shiver when you are near and I can't touch.

I feel defeated when I think I opened my heart instead of my eyes.
I wish we had never happened.

the rant. (extract from a letter to a stranger)

So it seems the world out there just proves me right. more and more.
I do resent the fact I carry this feminine influence on my moods. It controls my stupidity.

i just want a cock to suck. a cock to fuck. me. yeah.
i do like it. i do love it. in fact, i might even adore it. but at the end, I know I don't need it.

But men... sometimes, well, they really let me down.
you know what I hate? I hate the ones who can't see pass the surface, the cordiality, the pure and simple manners, the myths, the stereotypes. this way of one-way-only-perspective on the gender. on me.

I hate the ones who assume things, just because you are a hole, it doesn't mean you have to be nice, or sweet, or dumb or whatever is the stigma attatched to being a woman.

I'm no feminist, no, no sir. I'm independent.

and every now and again you meet the strange types, the lonely ones, the ones... you know, society rejects. the ones who "don't fit". you can relate to them and then the inevitable: you judge them...

yeah, you do fucking so. you try a cheap trick or two you've learned studying psychology and then the psychoanalisys results turn into a passport to their minds. Just to find out later, well, give the weirdos a home, comfort, and they also turn into the rest of them. the rest of society you so resent. well, well, well, after all that, he/she looks fine/healthy/re-born. and you... you still "don't fit". living by your own rules just makes you more dead.

how does that work?

and why, from all the people i know, it's you I choose to send these words?
I've got an urge to be fucked really hard. i also have an urge to ride really hard, as if i could break a cock in two.
angry sex is good. but contagious. therefore dangerous?

this is not an essay. it was just meant to give vent to my thoughts over the past days.

this is an extract, but probably my most honest post to date.