Playing With Knives

It tickles and prickles.

Gliding slowly along my skin.

The crispness of the blade piercing my flesh.

The need is growing stronger,

The yearning taking hold.

I desire to be damaged,

Fearing only he may know the way…

I like it.

How I long to be driven mad with passion,

To be taken.

Without warning.

Strangled and restrained,

By the one who once held my heart.

His fetish my reflection,

Shared darkness our bond.

 

For wicked is his poison,

That dances on my lips.

Drizzled bits of ecstasy,

Dripping ever so delicately over my tongue.

 

How I wish to find him hiding,

Somewhere away in the dark.

Ready and willing,

To give up the fight.

 

To prove me wrong,

 

But he won’t.

 

To show up unannounced,

Disturb my foundation,

Unsettle my core.

 

But he won’t.

And that’s okay.

 

I hold no hope for romance,

After all, I’m not a child.

For the eyes of a man can be telling,

And the words of a man deceiving.

To him,

I am no more,

Than familiar.

A comfort.

A friend.

A willing party,

Away from the war.

Another broken soul,

With whom to shed the mask.

And besides,  I’ve never found a lover,

Man enough, to tame this wild.

 

 

Advertisements