Chairs Missing



Maybe I did it on a whim, or perhaps it was the memory of your slick and slender body that at last forced my hands into action? Could it be that your image was what made me salivate again, or do my desires run deeper than I had ever anticipated? Are these words ruled by my soul, or do they answer solely to my cock? Is there even a difference? Does it even matter? Away from all source of light and the presence of those who reek too much of the crowd, I do what I want with you and make no excuses for my behaviour. The animal inside is what you wanted, and so my treatment of you can be of no surprise. I’m a caged beast at best. Some lion that has gone insane after being locked up and deprived of its natural habitat for too long. My tail chewed and eyes blinded by the lights of madness, my notion of right and wrong is as distorted as that version of you when you were a girl and not yet a woman. I still have those strands of your hair pressed within the pages of ‘Salem’s Lot, y’know. You were just seventeen, and while you slept in my arms, I took a pair of scissors from the bedside table and snipped them off. Not sure why. Maybe it was to preserve your innocence, an innocence that would go on to be stained by the adult world a thousand times over. Or maybe it was just the perverse act of a collector in the making. When your imaged danced upon my tongue, I swallowed it like a shot of Sambuca and smiled as it burned my insides. When your body opened up at my touch, my grasp of reality faltered that little bit more, and I adored every second of it. When you’re in me, I lose control. When you flower, I get dizzy and stumble upon the edge and smear my guts over these pages waking up the morning after unknowing of just what you did to me until the words meet my bleary yet fixed gaze.

A Journal for Damned Lovers on

A Journal for Damned Lovers on

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