My brain is broken.
I can’t write,
I can’t read,
I can’t fuck.
My mind is filled with many thoughts,
Some useless and many horrifying.
Is this the death of my creative mind?
Is this the death of my erotic nature?
Oh, how I wish
I could cut open my head,
Pull out my brain,
And squeeze the content onto the white pages.
I need to feed my desire,
I need to feed my readers,
I need to feed my obsession.
Wake me up from this wicked dream with a kiss.
Grab me,
And drag me
To the other side of the bed.
Fuck me until I’m weak,
Love me until I’m sick.
Cover me in soft, fresh linens
And bring me breakfast in bed.
My body is yours to pull and twist.
Give me a child so I can end this everlasting nightmare
and create peace within me.
My darling, I am your rag doll
And I’d do anything to please you.
I am unforgettable.
I am one of one.
When you leave me,
You will always look for me.
You will look into their eyes
And try to pull together fragments of me.
Fragments of my love,
Fragments of my voice,
Fragments of my heart.
But all you will find
Is the empty void I have left you with.
And I hope that ruins you.
I saw a dead raven today.
It was night and I was rushing to get to my bus
And I almost stepped on it.
Its body was upright,
Legs pointing to the trees above.
In the trees,
Many ravens stood as if to blend into the dark sky.
My first reaction was shock.
My second reaction was sadness.
My third reaction was peace.
Once the calm of the situation set in within me,
The ravens from above began to cry.
It was a heartbreaking cry, but it soothed me.
Like the sweet voice of a baby’s mother, cooing and cooing.
Oh, how I pity that raven
For dying in peace with their fellow kin surrounding and mourning them.
The raven is apart of the sky now
And soon be apart of the earth.
Is it sad? Yes.
Is it disturbing that I found the idea of a dead raven on the sidewalk calming? Yes, indeed.
But, it’s just have I make peace with the world and the things going on within it.
Whoever is there above,
Whoever thought of me,
Created me,
And produced me,
I want to give my thanks.
Thank you for my kindness.
My heart is full of love and I am always willing to give it out.
Thank you for my mind.
It produces powerful thoughts and emotions and wholesome poetry.
Thank you for my libido.
It drives me and my partners insane, but it is what builds and drives my passion.
Thank you for my impulsivity.
I have made great memories, great opportunities and great changes due to it.
Lastly,
Thank you for my otherness.
I am a being of another world,
I am a being destined to cause harm or peace.
I am a product of you, higher being.
For me, the lines between love and obsession has always been blurred. I never understood the difference until my first romantic encounter. The first boy I’ve ever been obsessed with was named Ronald. He was a well known boy in at my high school. He spotted me, he asked one of my friends for my number and the rest is history. He’s the first boy I had created feelings for and he’s the first boy to ever betray me. The full history of our relationship is long and shows how idoitic and naïve I was. I imagined having kids with him, going to the same college as him, I revolved my entire future around him.
Luckily, obsession’s cloak began to fall and I realized that he was only an obsession. It came to me, when his face was between my thighs, that I never actually liked him. I was just obsessed with who he could be, who I wanted him to be. The feelings I thought I had for him were created by me, in my mind, to hide my obsession. That’s when disgust came in. One interesting thing about obsession is its relation to disgust. I remember looking down at Ronald during the act. His tongue was becoming well acquainted with my left labia and he seemed to be enjoying himself. But I wasn’t enjoying it at all. My idealized version of him had worn off and he was just a plain, useless boy. He was never special, I just wanted him to be in my head.
Fuck,
I don’t know what I wanna do.
I want to love,
I want to cry,
I want to bleed.
I want to wear silk dresses
And enjoy the luxuries of life.
I want to cut the throats of those who have hurt me,
And watch them as they beg, pled for forgiveness.
I want to cut up fresh fruit and hand feed it to my lover.
I want to write and live in my delusional, sick thoughts.
I don’t want to work,
I don’t want to interact with other people;
I don’t want to cry unless it benefits my works.
I want to live my life as an artist
Without all the unnecessary stress and suffering of living a human life.
I am a woman who loves erotic horror,
Who enjoys seeing blood drip off of a curved body.
I am a woman who loves soft material,
Who prefers cashmere wool over silk fiber.
I am a woman who loves nature,
Who dries her dying flowers so a way to return it back to Earth.
I am a being who enjoys and embraces horror,
Who believes terror is ethereal.
I am a being who loves her own suffering,
Who cries and screams for enjoyment.
I am a being who doesn’t experience real emotions,
Who can easily love someone one minute and hate them the next.
I am something otherworldly,
Something that isn’t quite right.
I am something unnatural,
Something that can predict the future or reveal the truth through dreams.
I am something prodigious,
Something that is capable of creating authentic beauty
And something that is capable of creating pure savagery.
Baby.
You’re my baby, my darling, my lover.
My body aches for you,
My bed feels empty and cold without you.
My soft interior peaks out only for you.
You are my partner,
Nobody compares to you.
I worship you as if you were a God,
My God.
My body was made for you
To kiss,
To hold,
To grab,
To bend.
I am in my truest form
When I am with you,
My baby.
On sunny days,
I crawl out of bed
And dress in my finest clothes.
I walk, barefoot,
From my room,
To the kitchen,
To the front door.
My feet takes in and embrace the debris on the concrete.
My body reacts, but my mind takes it all in.
I keep walking.
The cold concrete turns into rough, but smooth grass
And my toes curl.
I keep walking.
The sun dances on my brown skin
And my shoulders drop.
I feel
Nothing.
My body isn’t of my own anymore
And my mind, blindly tries to take control.
I keep walking.
My tongue tastes sweet
And I remember days of baking and cinnamon buns.
My mom’s aura is felt
And I completely collapse onto the rough, but smooth grass.
My head feels dizzy,
My ears hear my neighbors rushing towards me and calling for help.
My tongue tastes blood as it has collided with my teeth,
My fingers and arms are going numb
And my revealed skin embraces the grass below and the sun above.
But all my attention is going towards the comforts my mom can only produce.
The Paramour 