"Let’s mix a little sorrow in our mirth, and smile when it burns us on the way down."
Sticking your toe in is the easy part.
"She looked at me and said “I don’t know how anyone gets through this sober”. Neither did I."
It has always seemed to me, like the best stories feel a lot like a sucker punch that makes your blood taste like warm honey.
I want to fuck your brains out.
The guy whose eyes raked over me, with only one thing on your mind.
The guy whose eyes made my insides melt with one glimpse of you, and drove me to distraction trying to contain the lust crazed animal within the deeper shadows of me. That desire fueled creature that violently demanded I jump your bones and revel in my own carnal pleasure. Unfortunately for the both of us, I didn’t listen to that wild creature and instead smothered it under the weight of the nervous butterflies you made flutter in me. That and years worth of arguments of why that would be a terrible idea developed by the society we live in. Unfortunately, I have a lot of self restraint. More than most people know about. Which really sucks for you, and me.
Though I’ll never admit it to you, I would absolutely love to get you acquainted with my inner freak. In fact I would love to do a lot of things. Most of them include reveling in my vices, and dragging your gorgeous ass along for the ride. Don’t worry though I won’t. I have years of practice in the science of self restraint. Not to mention I am far too tied to my own damn identity and the repercussion those actions would have on the people I care about. So don’t worry, these little secrets that flash briefly in my eyes right before your oblivious gaze, will stay just that. Secrets. I am bound and resigned. My inner freak flag with all its exotic feathers and sea treasures, and its utter bizarre glory, shall stay carefully hidden, tucked away into the repressive shell that is my own society molded identity. Just don’t forget, dear gorgeous stranger, when I give you that final hungry farewell look as I pass by and prepare to forget you and move on with my molded life, its my inner animal moaning out to you saying what I wish I had the courage to whisper into your ear.
I want to fuck your brains out.
"The greatest stories don’t have heroes and villians. They have opposing forces. Not black and white, but shades of gray standing in each other’s way."
See…there’s this itch. This itch that really, really gets to me. Cause it’s not exactly in a place I can name, let alone reach. And this itch, doesn’t demand a scratch like any other might. No, this itch, demands far more than that. It demands possession. It demands an entire world, to sate it. And nothing less will satisfy.
Oh, but not just any world will do. No, if only I were so lucky. No, it has to be the right one. The one that can hit just the right place. And that is not so easy to find. On occasion I know what it is, sometimes I can find it, if I’m lucky. Sometimes someone else has already made it, and I’ve only to look hard enough. Sometimes I’ve already come across it, and I simply need to follow my footprints. Other times, I must forge it myself. But no matter how I unearth it, once it is discovered, I must surrender to it completely, if I have any hope for peace. For this itch, demands satisfaction, and only absolute possession will do. So I check out of reality fora time, and delve into the new world. Until I know it so well, I can wear the knowledge on my skin. And the familiarity becomes a balm to calm the itch. Then, then! I may have peace. Then I can go about my day, keeping up with the day to day necessities of the society I was born into. I can fulfill my roles with ease, be who I’m suppose to be. Be blissful in the expected and quotidian. That is…
Until I get another itch.
"If muses exist, I wanna throttle mine, they are the most fickle creatures ever."