My mind is a pit
A bottom-less pit
Half-full with red-orange lava
The butterflies in my gut are drawn
By the intensity of this heat
Flying too close to your warmth
Burning their wings and falling
An Icarean reincarnation . . .
Our lips touch
At first, unsure, uncertain . . .
Then with blind urge
In that moment I know you
And you, me . . .
I can taste the honesty on your tongue
A curious mix of salt and sugar
Love and lust
And friendship. . .
How do I feel this?
When I’ve suppressed all emotion. . .
What have you done to me?
Why does my mind develop wings
And take flight?
Not on the powerful wings of angels
But on the tattered wings of the butterflies
That perished inside it.
I have to take control
This is killing me.
I pull out the sofa cloths
Roughly tying her hands and pushing them above her
She’s prone now
I go to kiss her
Allowing her to enjoy only the promise
Of what could have been.
I pull up her black tee-shirt
Her favorite color. . .
I blindfold her with it
Her breaths come in short painful gasps now
I have not even touched her.
Just a promise
A promise that I can choose to break
Leaving her to die in bodily torment.
Seeing her like this
All prone and defenseless
Is riling me up again
I’m losing it
I kiss her
Not to show love but to quench my thirst
Then, moving down to explore her
Down the slopes and curves of melanin
Geometry had never felt so. . . sensual
She wants to move
She can’t have me freely roaming
A thief going through a house
Leaving her vulnerable
I’m at her oasis now
Her breath catches
I move closer to her pulse
The pained throb is very obvious
The torture is too much for her
But I take my time
It is my time
I am in control
I grip her thighs and slowly lean into her
The room is straining to keep her screams in
The neighbours must know my name by now
Should I gag her?
Her screams are like music to my ears
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The X is anonymous. The X is defined as undefined.
The mind of The X is far more twisted and perverted than that of the Devil at the climax of an orgasm. . . Too graphic? This should be taken as a sincere warning.
However, there are times when the feeble soul triumphs over the ticking mind. The X is a manipulator of emotions.
PS: Don’t try to unmask The X. . . You wont succeed.