Addiction

That afternoon was lazy. The rain was strong, and the only thing left to do is to cuddle with him at the couch as we share a small cozy blanket. He clasped my left hand with his right, and his face drew closer to mine.

“What am I to you?” he asked.

“Coffee,” I answered. “You’re the first thing I ever wanted to have in the morning, and the only one that I need to keep me awake.”

He chuckled.

“What am I to you?” I asked.

“Love, you’re a heroin to me.” he said. “I can’t live without you– you always take away the pain.”

 

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featured photo source: s5.favim.com

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Deranged

Heart is beating loud,

Sweat dripping on the ground.

These are the only sounds that I could hear, overpowering Debussy’s Claire de Lune on the background – that bit of synthetic heaven cannot save me from the hell that my mind has been creating. My eyes are useless, for I chose to be blind. They were covered by fabrics of lies, my fantasy, my vice. I felt so weak and vulnerable, trusting only my sense of smell to tell whether he’s around. It’s bringing me thrill, and fear, and excitement – the sensation brings chill all over and makes my body tremble.

There it is…the fragrance that I’ve been waiting for and yet, wishing to never inhale again. It was the reason why I am here.

I was casted in a spell.

I was hypnotized.

He, became my drug.

The scent grew stronger and my skin started to bathe me more of my sweat.

Two pheromones wafting in the room, I wonder if I am the only fool.

I felt his fingertips landed on my right thigh, it made my heart beat faster and my lungs breathe deeper. His touch reverberated all over my body, it almost made me want to squirm.

I felt the first whip, and let out a moan. I felt the temperature on where it struck, changing from cold to hot. As he continued on lashing, my skin became numb and my mind was completely blank, for I am completely enthralled with his redolence. I know that I could be saved, but I don’t want to, and chose to be in here. No words could save me anymore.

He threw away the whip and bent over me, spreading my legs wide to expose the entire art of me, which he molded only for him. I felt him uniting with me, synching his rhythm and pace with my body. Hands caressing anywhere it reaches, breaths exchanging in deep gasps, lips showering each other’s skin.

Fear was gone.

It was heaven.

And now I could clearly hear Debussy’s music on the background.

Still soaked in sweat and hair was mussed, he looked at me from above and smiled.

“I love you,” I said. He paused, stood up and left.

It was the safe word after all.

 

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featured image source: pinimg.com

Is it my fault

Is it my fault

Is it my fault for getting catcalled?
For walking on the streets, alone and silently?
For the way I dress, for being myself, expressive?
For I was born with a face that’s pretty?

Is it my fault for getting groped?
For cramming myself with people like sardines?
For when I’m around everyone I was just being friendly?
For not defending myself because I’m weak?

Is it my fault for getting raped?
For coming home late after my night classes?
For walking on dark streets because that’s the only way?
For being so defenseless against men?

…Is it a fault to become a woman?

 

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featured image source: moscow.escapeteams.ru

Woman

When you see a woman walking gorgeously in a hallway, you think she is flaunting her dress;
But when you see a woman walking gorgeously on a street, you think she is flaunting her skin.

When you see lingerie in a store, you think they are just clothes;
But when you see lingerie owned by a woman, you think it is the woman herself.

When the woman is untouched, you see her as pure and precious;
But when the woman is touched, you see her as stained and less valuable.

When you see a naked woman in an exhibition, you call it art;
But when you see a naked woman in public, you call it crazy.

 

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Featured photo source: pinimg.com

Magic

It was morning…but the morning seemed to be indifferent from the night.

The fog that blanketed the earth during the dark was wiped by the strong wind and revealed clustered bodies on the ground. Blood were dried cold, eyes wide open, ready to be fed on by the hungry scavengers.
There she was lying, her body dismembered by her fall from the height that caused her demise. Flies dancing over her body and cockroaches migrated and bred in her mouth. Her white and cloudy eyes will blink or squint no more, but her mind still works like days before.
The wind brought the magic she was waiting for, a magic that seemed to be sent by a fairy. This magic touched the tip of her nose and revived her senses…
She started to breathe again.

 

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featured photo source: medical-tribune.de

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