Human Urges

Sometimes, I get the urge to rip my entire face off. 
To feel my long, pointy nails pierce my skin.
To feel the skin gather under my nails
As they drag down my face,
Along my chin,
And down my neck.

Sometimes, I have the urge to hurt someone.
Not physically; that would be too easy.
I want to feel the energy shift and
the pause to process what I have said.
I want to see the disbelief in their eyes,
The heartbreak in their heart.
The reaction, no matter what it is, to my actions.

Sometimes, I have the urge to tear open my chest. 
To pull apart my breast and dig through the skin and flesh
Until I reach my ribs.
I want to crack each bone, pull back my lungs
And grab my sweet, beating heart.
And I want to detach it from my body and admire it.
Then, I will press my thumbs into it,
Feeling through the soft, plushy material until I reach the center. 
I want to stare into it and caress it before I faint from

The overwhelming joy and blood loss. 

Renewal

I can’t stop crying. I just can’t. My tears run down my face like a cool, spring stream. They collect and dry on my pillows. I feel my being beg my heart to stop beating, to cease the everlasting sorrow within my soul.

Bottles upon bottles are filled with my tears and crescent moons form and leak blood within my palms. My brain will soon erupt as it can’t handle this much distress.

Slowly, My eyes grow sore and empty. My muscles are weak and beg for relief. My head begins to pound rapidly. My will to live is depleted.

My brain uses the little power it possess to turn my attention to my appearance in the mirror. My face is cover with wet streaks of make-up that is beginning to dry. My hair is dull and lifeless. My clothing is covered with dried blood, my dried blood. My hands are numb and blood still drips from them.

Despite this, I can’t help, but to smile. My tired face is able to pull my lips into a big, joyous smile. I have lost every sense in my being and I have been dehumanized. But I love it. I feel like I have been reborn and renewed into something better, something more terrifying and disturbed. I can’t help but to love every bit of it and what’s to come. 

Made for Me

I thought it was impossible to meet a man 

As deranged and lost in this world as I am.

One who has no will to live and only lives 

To raise hell amongst the world.

One who looks at me as if I’m god

And Satan.

One who is able to tame 

My inner wrath and hatred.

One who makes this horrible world

Worth living, even for a few more years.

From the second I met him,

I knew he was made for me,

And only me. 

Love isn’t that simple

Love is not that simple.

Love in not that simple to me.

Other people experience it as 

Something fresh, pleasant and joyful.

I experience it as 

a rebirth, dreading and overall painful.

Love,

For me,

Turns into obsession.

Turns into wanting to be apart of your physical being.

Turns into a burning pain due to how much I crave and desire.

Love,

For me,

Is sickening.

My daily functions depend on your admiration of me.

My mind, body and soul depends on your overall happiness.

Love,

For me,

Becomes my entire identity.

I am not me if I don’t have or possess you.

I am meaningless without love.

Is this healthy?
No, it isn’t.

But it’s the only way I thrive within my being. 

Girlie

He watches as the water rinses away the soap from my tan body. The soap slides along my curves and down to the shower tiles. I met him two months ago and I’m already sickly obsessed with him. He tugs at the dark tie wrapped around his neck as I continue the erotic show through the glass shower.

“Girlie. My girlie,” he moans, pulling the tie off and unbuttoning his shirt. This is our last night together before he goes back to Italy. We wanted to make it memorable. 

I press my round, bare ass on the glass and sway it back and forth, teasing him. I could hear him getting up from his seat and approaching the mirror. A smile grows across my face. He pulls open the shower door, pulling me out of the steam of water and into his muscular arms. I kiss every bit of his pale chest, getting lower as I do so. Before I could unbutton his pants, he takes my chin into his hand and pulls me up off my knees. 

Then, he looks at me, stares at me. The expression is unrecognizable to me. It’s a look he has never given to me before. His big, dark eyes are set on mine and I can’t detect what is going through his mind. I don’t know if I should feel aroused or scared, but I can’t help but to feel aroused. 

“Baby, why are you looking at me like that?” I ask, but he says nothing in return and just pulls my damp body into his clean suit to pursue a thirsty, lustful kiss. Our tongues swirl together as I attempt to be closer to him. My lower region is starting to swell as his fingers crawl down my spine.

As the kiss breaks, the feeling of a thousand needles poking my back arises. I chuckle as my body grows weak and I fall into the man’s arms. He just stabbed me in the back and he’s about to do it again. We make eye contact again as he pulls the knife out of my back for the second time. My body begins to become overwhelmed and begins to shut down, but I can’t help but to be at complete bliss. I’m dying by the hands of a foreign man from a foreign country. I couldn’t ask for a better, more erotic death. I can feel an orgasm rising within my weakened body and I know it is the last thing my body will ever do.

The last thing I hear him say, before my demise, is,

“Girlie.” 

So I do

I didn’t ask to be a woman.
I didn’t plan it beforehand,
And my parents didn’t plan it.
If I knew how this world treats women,
I would’ve definitely been born a boy,
Or not been born at all.

But I’m here.
I’m here 
Where people are debating about my womb,
Judging my curvy body,
Criticizing my skin color
And fetishizing my ‘erotic’ nature.

It’s a cruel joke.
I didn’t ask for any of this.
I don’t want this reality.
I feel betrayed by my eyes whenever they open
And bring me back to my hopeless reality.
I feel wronged every time by heart beats on rhythm.

But I’m here.
And I have no choice, but to make the most of it. 
I want to have fun
And make people miserable.
The natural evilness within me is fueled by my own hatred and dismay.
She is impulsive, cruel, sharp-tongued and motived.

Every time I try to be sweet and good, 
She reminds me how nobody, but her, cares about my being
And all I have been through due to me being sweet and kind.
She tells me,
“This world has and will always be cruel to you,
why don’t you return it?” 

And so,
I do
as she says.

A Way of Life

Let my wounds tell you.
I’ve been through a lot 
And I don’t know how I survived so long.
I should have been dead a while ago.
My body found lifeless,
Filled with pain pills
And unfulfilled wishes.

I have been through so much pain.
I’ve become cold and numb.
The emotions within me 
Operate against me.
My body and mind 
Move on their own,
Senseless and numb.

But, 
I’m trying.
I’m trying to find peace and love
Within this cruel world.
I’m trying to live in a naive state,
Where no further harm can be down.

But, I’m corrupt.
I follow my own laws and direction.
I find pain to be love
And love to be obsession.
I find hatred to be passion
And passion to be deadly.

I have been through it all
And I have seen it all.
I live in a different mindset,
A different painting and vision.

After so much pain,
I finally get to make the rules.

It wasn’t planned

I’m sorry for the lack of posting! I’ve had final with University and had to keep on track with that. I hope you guys enjoy this short story and I will post more this week. – The Paramour

I didn’t mean to. I just wanted you all to myself. The second you entered me was the second I knew you were meant to be mine. You felt so right within me. My legs wrapped perfectly around your waist as you pushed into my small center. I didn’t want you to leave me. Ever. I didn’t want to cause you any pain. Ever. I know you hate pain, but I just couldn’t let you be with anyone else. I watched as you reached your climax and as I reached for the knife. Within seconds, the knife was struggling to penetrate your back. Your muscles spasmed and you tried to push me away at the second or third stab, but it was to no advantage. You fall onto your open wounds and whine like a child in pain. 

My poor baby, 

My poor, poor, baby.

Don’t worry or whine, it will be ok.

You’re safe 

with me now.

Paradise

In the future,

I hope to live comfortably.

My husband takes care of me.

I don’t have to work or make decisions

Besides what color the kitchen walls should be painted.

The only form of work I do is writing for my blog

And tending to the home.

No,

I don’t want to be the stereotypical housewife

Who takes cares of her man child of a husband 

And is restricted to the home.

I want to be the wife that my husband tends to.

He takes care of all my wants and needs and more.

He lets me be hateful and cruel, 

But only sweet to him.

Yes,

I want to live out my evil ways

In peace and without shame.

This is paradise.

My paradise.