Hunger (redux)

I’ve written all this before. But it was out of context. It was a test I made for myself. A message I dressed in black and white.

This is what happens when you bleed all over your words.

***

A simple hunger,
Cutting inward with desperate heat.

I seldom know the truth in fingers where hands might take the place of words but I can’t quite figure the path from here to there and there to wherever it is I think I desire to go.

But hey – why let something so simple as not understanding, not knowing, not existing in any real fucking fashion stop me from doing precisely whatever it is I that I want.

I want people to read my words on my lips. I want my thoughts to be painted on my skin, so you can know just how good I am with them. My words are like blades, like tempo setting drums that can pace you to the end in a soft tempor of sweet lingering pain.

I want people to know that I know I know I don’t think you know what I can do with my lips. Yes, I said I can do with my lips what silk can do to your skin.

Maybe I just need to tie you up, wrap my fingers around your wrists and throat like a reminder, a warm steady reminder of how it feels to be secure in a way that money, love and even friends can’t give you. I strip you bare of your everything – every face you wear during the day comes off with the snap of my fingers or the whisper of my name for you. Our secret language shared in a look when I have you on your knees. This is the moment of surrender , of complete replacement of all those things that hold you back. I tie you up to free you from your inhibitions. I hold you down that you finally struggle for life. I rip you open so that you can feel all the way to your core what it is to breath in synchronicity and breath out the remainder of your self in perfect rhythm to my fingers.

I pretend to know you. But all those secrets I know about you I learned from myself. I touch you like I want to be touched; I push you where I want to go. But pretension is only the start, for knowledge becomes intimacy and intimacy becomes everything. It becomes tears when you realize just how far down the path I’ve taken you, where my hands on your wrist are the only things keeping you from being lost in these strange woods. But you feel alive for the first time since you remembered what it is to not live in danger, since you traded quick breathing for long secure breaths in a relationship that would nurture you. I steal. I drain. I cut and I cut until there is nothing left but the bare truth of you and you will not thank me for it in words. You will cry, because naked, you feel everything.