Devil In A New Dress

I just got finished getting my cock sucked. There's something about women that makes me so submissive to their seductive charms and atmospheric femininity. Every three and a half seconds I fall in love with a new girl, and every minute I imagine a new dream of marriage.

Their love bites on my chest and neck are recognitions of dominance and ownership, and my willingness to be a slave to their erotic malevolence always arrives with an underlying misogynistic distrust and an almost hateful resentment for their power over me. I break her face with every flirtatious act, and her nose bleeds estrogen which is my savored cocaine.

"So fucking cute. So fucking gorgeous. So fucking beautiful. Darling, I want to destroy you."

My ex-girlfriend called me yesterday and as always my compulsion drove me to say that I would have stayed with her in California if she asked, but of course that was just my adrenaline speaking. After some of the batshit crazy and disturbed people I have encountered  in the past few years, it feels great to have someone in my life that isn't immature or passive aggressive, but I wonder if I'm holding myself to the same standard. Probably not, my hellmouth can't stop itself from spitting seductive charms out of a lustful adoration to every girl I meet.

"I'm making love to the Angel of Death."

My fingers drip of a different carcinogenic nectar, and instead of nicotine-stained fingers they now are covered in the most obvious sexual acceptance, their sacred honey, my addiction. I savor all the precious that is female and to watch her squeal in delight is a beautiful dream of heaven. There's a stripper in there too. I've dated the nymphet of a stripper, along with a musician, blood-painter, college girl, and cute girl next door. Always do I bow down over their pink and purple atmospheres in the blue shade. Some I fuck furiously and imagine with other men, others I cuddle and claim and want nobody to take them from me. But I adore all.

Wolf monster satisfied by the women of Portland.

Exquisite is when you choke on your own breath as an absolutely gorgeous princess gives you a seductive smile. "I'm sooooooo your slave" I plead to her, and hold her hand to kiss. Bending over for her is fine, fine just fine.

Addiction is such a thrilling demise when the magnificent girl of your dreams cuddles with you on the couch and discreetly whispers her most fragile secrets and opens her gorgeous neck for consumption. I want her, her war, her disaster, her lust, her vanity, and her adoration. Sitting next to her on that couch made the hotel party seem like a precursor to some sort of sexual heaven and the intoxicating perfume still has not left my mind.

The Apartment Ritual

An old poem I found that I wrote during the summer. As I have invited many of my personal friends to visit this site on leisure, I'll continue to post more archived writings I find.

The Apartment Ritual

Anxiety flashes in the shape of a twitch

Every inch of skin glowing at the sound of the phone

Vibrant and attentive like pupils

and asphyxiation as her lust flashes in my ear

Yesterday I held a thanatophobia shape

but tonight she's a corpse

"When you breathe in the fumes,

does the Holocaust elucidate your violent mind?"

I question as I obey natural course

"Pretty As A Swastika" in the stereo system and it starts

With every lick and every kiss I burn a Christmas picture

Burn offerings for the night of June 7th

Reflection on fangs, not a whisper

"let me show you where it hurts" is intended

A thrust, was her moan to be attentive?

Every guitar riff, every synth drum, she drives further.

And I fuck furiously burning like the heart of anger

And heart beats, and beats, and beats,

Until I end the ritual with "So it is done."

Tragically Infernal

Constantly consuming is your warmth, and you have conquered and divided my defenses. Now as you move in for the kill, you bring down the fire and throw down my dominos of indiscretion leading to the vulnerable child crying at the end of the hallway.

Inescapable, molded solid, and biological imprisonment. "A permanent solution to a temporary problem" the warning sign says, but the thought of you out of my sight reeks of screaming infidelity. This will end in bloodshed, and that won't be lipstick on your fucking lips.

In Memoriam

I grabbed your hair roughly and thrust myself into you violently. There was no denying your lust and immediate orgasm as your cheeks blushed the most vibrant red. "You're my bitch, and I'm your man. Tell me how much you love my cock." You tried to mumble a word but only a moan was able to escape the mouth that was covered by my aggressive hand. A bite into your neck and I couldn't tell whether it was one of pain, pleasure, or a combination of both.

"You wanted PERFEKT. You got your PERFEKT. But now I'm too perfekt for someone like you."

My misogyny stems from the fact that they never love you, they love the way you make them feel. These vampires thirst after certain emotions that some people can provide them, and if you are able to learn their patterns and figure out how to release those chemicals in their head, like carnal beginnings intended, reservation has no extent. You are an object, a phallus toy, to be used to fulfill their desires, their needs, and their expectations.

That's why I'm aggressive when I fuck you -- and the more you beg for it, the angrier it makes me.