Converting air's chemical make-up can be exhausting enough for some people. Something drained out of me. I don't know when. I don't know how.
Somewhere in me, the sting of piss on tenderized raw skin mixed with a kiss. Somewhere in time, I zoned out while licking his shoes like a puppy. Somewhere along the horizon, I became the foot stool his feet rested upon. Somewhere in the rhythm, I began considering under the desk a safe haven. Somewhere, somewhere, somewhere, I became.
The oddity of this all is the person who demeans me this way is the same one urging me to in every other way to be a better person. In the real world, the part of me that has been softened this way pushes the rest of me into an actual form of intelligence. A contradiction, I'm sure, but true for me.
I miss the games of emotions and power. Rebelling to be forced, force him to act. Buttering him up to get a kiss. All of it, all of it. I miss the anticipation of hearing from him again, the time being coy and sweet, and the demented part of me, highly enjoyed the time of tension and red-blinding rage. Something in me loves the thrill of upsetting the one I want most. The games. The struggle to get back on his good side. My own little game of derailing docile, urging, aiming to have him kiss while he pushes me away., allowing my other thrill of trying to get what I want. The struggle against him in this way...
The games, the games I like to play, Now I need a playmate.
2/13/10, Laredo
Somewhere in me, the sting of piss on tenderized raw skin mixed with a kiss. Somewhere in time, I zoned out while licking his shoes like a puppy. Somewhere along the horizon, I became the foot stool his feet rested upon. Somewhere in the rhythm, I began considering under the desk a safe haven. Somewhere, somewhere, somewhere, I became.
The oddity of this all is the person who demeans me this way is the same one urging me to in every other way to be a better person. In the real world, the part of me that has been softened this way pushes the rest of me into an actual form of intelligence. A contradiction, I'm sure, but true for me.
I miss the games of emotions and power. Rebelling to be forced, force him to act. Buttering him up to get a kiss. All of it, all of it. I miss the anticipation of hearing from him again, the time being coy and sweet, and the demented part of me, highly enjoyed the time of tension and red-blinding rage. Something in me loves the thrill of upsetting the one I want most. The games. The struggle to get back on his good side. My own little game of derailing docile, urging, aiming to have him kiss while he pushes me away., allowing my other thrill of trying to get what I want. The struggle against him in this way...
The games, the games I like to play, Now I need a playmate.
2/13/10, Laredo
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