On my birthday eve, I remained up alone with a six-pack of Saint Arnold’s Christmas Ale. Oversized t-shirt , no bra, black lace hip-hugging panties, and my favorite fluffy socks. I waited for midnight to come. I sat in the middle of my couch, employed a single candle into a huge dollop of slew chocolate chip ice cream and blew it out.
I have a head full of tempestuous nighttimes and pitch-black gloom. I am so alone. I have a nerve that is far too heavy to carry. I still fantasize about single-edge razor blades. I have indebtednes. I have damaged the relations between my family. I don’t believe in much, but since I was a little girl, I liked to play suppose that in cares there is currently magic. Four and a half brews in. I could’ve bid for anything to wreak agreement to my tumultuous life, but there I sat, closing my seeings, assuring the neon lights that are yours, blowing and wishing for only you.
I don’t want to write this, and what I make by that is that I don’t crave a hunk of my centre in your hands.
You sly beautiful bandit, but there “you think youre”, deeming it captive.
Tell me how it feels in that sexy palm of yours. Yes, I said naughty, everything about you is, from that groove between your eyebrows to every single whisker you flourish on your beard. The acces you glance utters me lose my teach of my anticipate. Where was I?
Oh, yes, tell me how that part of my vital muscle feels.
Does it flutter when you ultimately judge enough of me to bother to request? Is it enough to let you in on the things your enunciate does to other parts of my form? Is it freezing to the signature and weighted on the working day you disappear? Has it saying that you how I ache for you? I’ll hunt you down to burn it if it’s “ve told you how” I have exclaimed actual rips because of you.
I lay awake at night cursing you because there’d be no coming it back even with hostage negotiations.
I knew the moment I saw you waiting for me at that inn forbid that you’d be an addiction. Now now I am, shaking, cold sweats, piercing my tacks down to stubs because it’s been too long since I kissed you.
That night, I had never required anything more than for you to introduced paws on me. I didn’t give a fuck that it felt like you could be the death of me. I questioned my stability, I called myself crazy because I felt it in my bones that nobody was ever denote for me as much as you two are. It cleared me want to delete your crowd, extend far from your reach and never see you again. It procreated me want to run towards you and conflict into you. Like, fuck it if I hurtled into your ocean, insignificant little parts of shipwreck turn left to swim to shore or left to subside. Fuck it if it entailed I was get lost and submerge in your mouth.
I recollect feeling like I was burning grey sizzling from the inside out. I had to keep on making swallows of my iced liquid. It wasn’t the wasabi. It wasn’t the reason. It was you.
It’s still you.
Can’t you hear the fire? Can’t you reek the smoke?
Don’t you consider me specifying off explosions for you to come and find me?
Look at what you started.
You said you felt something real and that you knew I felt it too. Well, where the fuck are you?
I believe I’ve gone completely mental. I conclude perhaps I performed you up.
I touch myself and try to think of anyone else, but I can’t. It’s you realizing me wet, it’s your paws and your tongue I think about when I masturbate. Saturday night I jigged, tell some stranger come up behind me and grind on me. For a got a couple of sungs, I imagined you were him. I propagandized him when I turned around because I wasn’t being greeted by your smile or your eyes. What I’m saying is that I’ve come to realize I don’t want anybody that isn’t you.
I dream about you.
I dream about going away alone with you. I have this thing for hotel rooms. You lay me down in the midst of a bed in one, hold my wrists together above my principal and devour on my neck. You kiss me and suck on my skin like it was a carbohydrate cube. Even in my fantasies, I beg you to tear into me. I beg you to eat me down to the bone. I feel every supernova in every galaxy inside me watching you lick your lips clean.
I dream about you decorating my back in colors of red-faced and in subtleties of pink. I wake up breathing. My hair on the back of my neck sticky and sweaty. Some lights I wake up calling out your name.
Would it be too forward to tell you I want to hold it in my speak forever?
I dream about a home. I dream about a kitchen with an island counter where I leave you little love tones each morning. The wine rack is always full. The wine-coloured glasses are always overflowing. There’s ever tea in the pantry. It ever smells like something is baking and like espresso. I dream about a nightstand where I leave you poems. I’m ever leaving books on the coffee counter but you never mind. On Saturday mornings, the music is always on low-grade. I sing while I shape you breakfast, still feeling the things you concluded me feel years ago. When you wake up, the first thing you always say is “hi beautiful.”
I can’t stop daydream about you.
I can’t deter “ve been thinking about” you like this.
I don’t want to.
You utter me feel so special one day then leave me to wonder who I am to you. Sometimes it feels like the answer is nothing . Nothing has stung like this in a long time.
I’m persisted somewhere between wanting to block your figure and wanting to gather up the phone to call you. I’m adhered somewhere between wanting to fuck you until your president proceeds numb and had wished to blow you. I’m put somewhere between wanting to break “youve got to” articles and wanting to give you all the parts of me I am barely hindering glued together.
I am feeling highway too much for you and I’m afraid of it.
It takes all the backbone I have to admit this, but I ponder I fell for you. Undoing this should’ve been my alone wish.
I have fallen for you and I kind of hate you for it.