two
three
four
five,
minutes under me, you stare, I compress.

All of your sex, engulfed by the in-arbitrary wish of keeping you inside,
the inevitable mistake of exposing my wish
the art of engaging in what we secretly have craved for so long

mb2017

Seeking the approving tremble of your body, the feel of your hands landing on my arms, hands up on my face, hold of my chin and make me stare at you
the real you
the overwhelming eyes that scream at you will not divert

we spent hours talking before. all my eyes seek is your voice. make you talk again.

 I like building whatever is behind me. the scene, the set, this imperfect, homemade world that exists in my head, that i can touch and capture in photo form. to then dismantle, take it apart, tidy it away.
Only you (the viewer) and me know it exists.

And when Im at home and look around, I know it's here somewhere, that it's been here once, but nobody else can see it.

the secret world of me. and you.

next time, i'm willing to give you the keys.

composing a brand new blank

It's striking in composition, it's absolutely sterile and insipid.
the vapour trail of you and me.

Pour the words in my ears, make a fake promise or two and I will jerk you off
off out of your system, off my radar, your bullshit stays.

but then there are the days that I feel slightly touched by the tiny little actions that I read so much into.

cumming over and over and over again.
I want to release the unleashed. it's coming so fast , long time going,
I will cum on you on a splash
.
.
.
and wash your bullshit away, as if it had never happened.

in my head

When the room is empty of our stories, when the room is empty of our bullshit, I want nothing more than reality. I want to feel the anger inside my gut exploding down my legs. Make a puddle of my best, right on your stomach. Sitting on your crotch and staring at your devious face. I scream a fucking thousand thoughts in silence, all you hear is the occasional outside noise cutting through the windows and filling the room we are.

we are

a couple of accidents, of excuses we gave ourselves.

we are so wrong it doesn't feel right whatever it is that happens.

But we like it. it is not to say we don't get used to it. Like  your hands down my pants, pressing hard and trying hard, until we are both soaked in whatever happened to be my pleasure, to be my penitence too.

Here's a reason to sit on you again: get you moist as I please, then down on my knees, so I can lick it all off again.

in my head, it's the last time.

in my head

myriads

I was never sure what impact you'd have on me.
On my skin, you stayed for brief minutes, stained my face with your pleasure, bruised my lips. I was thirsty for you.

On the big corner sofa, so many words exchanged, so much time we spent just throwing memories, retelling stories that other ears wouldn't understand. I understand. your lips going down my legs, all I wanted.

Id crawl to you if I had to. Id throw myself in bed and retreat. Under a variety of moments, I stared at you, at your care. Maneuvering my body as if the most fragile piece you've ever handled. I still didn't understand by that point. Piercing you as I stared, I was somehow cursing you to be mine.

leaving was much of a rush, but of a rush also going through my head. my legs still shaking, my pleasure still running and sticking to the fresh clothes I've chosen to cover up any of my shame. I have no shame. urges come and go.

and when you are out there, in the field, hiding, running, hunting. I am also wandering, seeking the same. Our paths never to cross again even if all we have is this vivid impression that that would be possible.

I will be the taste you will crave half way through a random night hunting. the disappointment of never getting to see the same marks over each other again.

wrong turn

for all that remains and for all that vanishes.
the time has gone, will never stay. and I will never be sure where I really stand.
when it comes to what it's happening

the body follows a faint trace of dubstep
the heart beats faster than the body shakes

then the tears drop. drop down in an avalanche of emotions mixture. of mistaken assumptions. of despair and   no notion of where you are.

then clothes are teared off, anything flat can comfort, or maybe balancing on heels against a wall makes it all a big misunderstanding. the physical and animal makes the abstract and the emotion turn into a big bowl of bullshit.
so angry for letting it all take over. so sad to see it all gone.

there's a tic tac sound, stuck in my head, my bed, so far away, can't hold any of my thoughts, all of my weight wasted on the floor, seeking time.

I thought you were mine. that there was nowhere to hide anymore. no more of more. time turned you into gold. a treasure I've buried so deep, I cant dig you out.

But the traces remain evident. I follow the lines, the trick is on not leaving any marks.

"it will be ok. it will pass"

just like the words that came out of your mouth once. never stayed. you never stayed.

then another night wasted, permanent damage done, another stranger left wondering. legs shaking, the adrenaline running. pleasure running down the legs.

and its not about you. its about  need. my measurement of happiness. my immediate relief.
 all i need. all i need.

five minutes down my legs, whatever way you prefer.
release my pleasure in your hands
whisper you mistaken words.
push you away, leave no trace.

watch you go to be free again. I set you free and lock the door.

of ghosts

I come to wonder sometimes, what if all that was, all that existed, is still floating invisibly somewhere.
the feel of embrace around me, of all cold and warm things, is undeniable. I need caress.

Caress me as you explore. from inner thighs moving up, with your hands. looking down with your superiority guilt. hands down below, words stuck in your throat, I just need you to keep daring. I can suck all you cant say later on.

the pleasure is all mine.
 

truth sets in

If I were half as of a good person as I pretty much like to believe I am, I'd admit defeat.

enough.

and then again, you just pour words in bed as if saying them as I'm asleep will garante some sort of decent safety.

there's no safety involved in this. You get one move wrong and you can get me upset. for a very long, long time.

I wish you were noisy. i wish you were silent. i wish you'd be whatever you need to in order to make me feel like I am doing the right thing.

right now, im all wrong.

wrong in colours. wrong in truth.
wrong in lies and mess and chaos and whatnot.

the rest... the rest...

the rest is falling asleep at night and hearing the door opening and seeing you entering the room, jumping in my bed.
sunday mornings and non sense talk. stupid tease, your piercing look you give, whenever you want to say something but will never do it in case I'll hear it.

i miss all that.

and all these years, wondering about how we'd be, it was sort of ok to keep it that way, because i never had a taste of it, i never knew even if I wanted it. Now is harder because we had it and I dont know how to get it back.

of all the predictable things, the one that hurts the most, is to know you will blank me forever.

im sorry

I've lied.

to myself, to everyone around me who tried to squeeze truth and honesty out of me.

I've trapped my tiny intelligence in a room not even a single thought would fit in.

I've burned every piece of furniture i used as a seat, to rest, to wait, until wait was no more and all I did was to waste time. mine. yours. same as mine.

The words i cant say out loud mix with the words i wish id hear.

so lost, so lost now either i go back to where i came from, or i go nowhere at all.

there's no middle ground. there's no middle terms, there's no comfort zone anymore. i just wish your forgiveness comes whenever the words i dont want to hear, come out of me.

i do love you the way you know it.

truth or dare?

Instinct comes back by the shape of my past. It doesn't disturb me, it doesn't irritate anymore.

I've got immune to invisibility. Maybe I sank into the ultimate ego sea
of despair
of failures
of feeling numb
drawning and coming back to the surface,
just to breath the same old air you inhaled all your life. all the scents and remarkable memories associated to them.

a scratch that looks like a tattoo is the ultimate trophy of losers.

So it seems, I survived. the storm in the sea. Still looking for something to guide me. to lead me to a safe spot. on Earth.

I'm tired of dreams. Of lies and expectations. of deception and confusion. messages never said, lines never read. truth never told.

I want to live the truth. I want don't want to know it. I want to fucking live it!!

Under my feet there's only the floor that I once lied on, naked, wasted, spent, cover in cum and fake pleasure. the pleasure of pleasing others.

So nude, I never felt cold. Now, writing, I feel like the real exposure is coming. It's right at my door, knocking and ready to break in if I don't answer.
I will answer for all my acts of insanity if that's gonna help.

BUT IT'S NOT.

Everybody else is living a lie.

in hell. the one they built to themselves.

And all this time, I did think I was the one who had problems.

I only have nothing. and nothing is enough to make me sure something's wrong and changes are needed.

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.

ballad of a coward

I've let you go this morning, not because I wanted you to leave. It was because I didn't want to be the one abandoning this.

I'm not sure where my mind is at the moment. A rollercoaster of interferences and abundance of you. I took a trip back in time in my memory. I found loads of entries about the bad timing and state of mind I've put myself all these years. I found you being mentioned every now and again, putting me somewhere safe, where ghosts wouldn't haunt me, where nights were as long as we needed them to be. You'd bring me down to reality, but not the dull reality I knew it. I was your little bit of promise that things could be real too.

This morning I didn't say what I wanted to say, I didn't kiss you the way I wanted to kiss you. This morning I've let myself down for not telling you I care. For letting you go, not meaning it at all.

I'm scared. There're a dozen chances and only one big picture. There's only one heart to break.

Standing here alone, waiting for the worst part yet, it's going back in time in my memory, but not having you there to rescue me. Stuck in past and ruins of mistakes and loveless, careless truth.

I will miss you more than you think.

fear

I actually like you.

you know... the way I shouldn't.

Its got out of proportion. I got sucked into this impossible reality, where you would actually care.

So much time has passed by. I feel just so mute. as in: ive got loads to say, but no sound comes out of my mouth.


I've been thinking about the lies you hold. the real reason for trying to be nice to me.
I guess I'm just waiting to be completely heartbroken.

It's happening so fast.

Conditions

Terms and conditions apply.

to my... condition.

It's not as simple as you might think. The autumn happening outside, and inside... well, inside I fear the danger of forgetting what winters are made of.

I feel rebellious when we engage in emotional attatchment. Like the pre moments of a storm, I feel the greyness and weight of being sober after so much warmth, so much so much. I often struggle with the idea of letting myself like you as much as I do now. It's a dead end.

Worse than having to put on your favorite shoes and forgetting how to dance.

worse than enjoying you in bed so bad and having to leave in the mornings.

I despise the fact I'm sober, that I can't control all the illusion and all reality that fades like fog.

I fear attatchment that gets stronger with time.

with the same intensity I know the only thing keeping me going is having you so close.

the unsaid, the unknow

the day...my guard will be down, my voice will be heard and all i will do is to throw away all ive been keeping. the day my hands will stop seeking the texture of your skin or the coldness of the keyboard on nights i had thought would turn out to be better.

not bitter, not meaningful either, just quite simply, better than what they are just now.

ive been giving up on trying to understand you and to be honest, i completely forget about every conversation we start. i try to ignore the situation but the scream, the frustration, the innevitable, the unknown... its all there.

right on your face.

Every now and again, I feel this need of writing about you.I find it hard though. It's almost as things work between us.. predictable, almost inevitable, but above all, innapropriate. we are wrongs of the same truth. we find comfort on each other's oddness. I secretly miss when you're not around. i panic when i realise that. i give silence a reason to exist.

...

the revolution outside...

I´ve started it from my bed.

mood swings

I just waited for a drunk text message.

or perhaps a confirmation that, yeah, I failed.

But no signal. no voice. silence echoes. so does heartbeats. I dont accelerate, I dont move. I just drag my expectations to the couch and sink into german cinema from the 80s.

My closest friend questioned the other day if anybody has ever knew me. the real me. I didnt even know what that meant. I had to think for a while.

I'm still thinking about it.

It's been 3 months.

So when I put myself out there, bland and calm, just as i should, I find a bunch of childish giggles filling the space between you and I. And your giggles are not a reflection, they're a criticism disguised as an understanding shake of head. My giggles might be childish and you might see through me when you watch me blush and struggle with words, but they're all genuine and honest. They're me: I'm fearless of sounding stupid, because deep inside I might just know it's useless to try to hide.

When my sillyness comes to rest, and my past settles in the cheesiest corner of my heart, I calm down and manage to go fishing for the deepest of thoughts. I'm too childish for grown up talks, but too old for stupid mind games.

I bring the bravery out of knowing I'm ok.

I'm just ok, kid.

where do i start?

Inevitably, the success to deliver a message comes from communicating properly. Which is a skill I don't possess.

I've tried, so far and in no particular order:

words,
images,
drawings,
doodles (oh wait, that WAS my attempt at drawing),
screaming,
singing,
mimics (very occasionally)
and some physical interaction (sometimes, when appropriate).

it doesn't help to have a thousand thoughts per minute. but hey.

Ok, maybe it is wrong. All interaction can be a distraction and you get a blurry view of your "oh-so-clear" intention, slowly blending in with the minors and majors of superficial and realistic ideas and yadda yadda.

My concern at the moment is my sanity. as it has always been.

paranoid... me?

And then, there's the fine line between just really being human and not accepting it. I wish I could ask a portrait of me painted by each one of my friends. Not a mirror, no. A mirror decieves, distracts. it's a trick.
A painting or anything created by people who knew me, a clear impression of what i might really come through as.

oooh, so dangerous. but might be satisfying. And with the pros and cons of savouring the truth and honesty of others, what would really come out of me?