Ninth Circle (A Half Acre Of Hell)

It’s the feeling of being set on ice, the deep muscle pain where it’s impossible to think that you can sink any lower.
My head pounds uncontrollably, and I can feel my breath start to slow, as if fresh oxygen has just broken through my lungs for the very first time.
Every nerve feels oh so fragile, as if at any moment, with any sudden movement, they’ll shatter into a million pieces, disconnecting this being and everything it stands for. 

That strange, almost sensual sensation of strangulation grips my throat, leaving an ominous tightening in my chest, but there is no pleasure in its dominance.
Instead of that kind of high, a type of rush only that act in question can provide, I feel a sense of dread, an urgency for a relief that mocks me so, one that I cannot seem to find.
Upon reaching a much needed albeit temporary moment of calm, my entire body collides with a numbness so sweet, a short-lived warmth until I feel the cold come crashing back.

…

My body set on ice, while my blood burns bright with a stunning rage, is how you’ve left me, my dear.
I descend into that dreaded ninth circle by your hand, an aspect of Hell that was only once imagined, never actually felt. 
Encapsulated in that same icy bath, my aching nerves, my skin set ablaze from the precision and elegance of your blade, is how you’ve left me, my love.
I fall into a half acre of Hell because of your touch, one that I will gladly dredge through to find you for the chemistry that inhabits our beings is something of destiny. 

…

And this is how our love story begins.

© Copyright November 2016

Control

I want to live in a place where thinking never goes out of style.
Where the pen and paper are made to create and defy, inspire what was never thought possible.
Your conscience is a black hole, mine is an open book.
Spill out the contains of my heart and watch an ocean of never-ending thoughts and theories cover the floor. 

Engulf yourself in the flames of your own ignorance as I smolder in the heat of my triumph.
I want to live in a place where thinking never goes out of style.
Emerging from the ashes with a fervor so strong it reignites the souls of those in the deepest depth of Hell.
I want to live in a place that’s ready for something new. 

…

A world oh so very strange. 

© Copyright July 2011/November 2016

Lascivious

The time it takes for the flog to reach the skin feels like an eternity, the ripe anticipation of pain brought on all too willingly by another’s hand.
The cold steel gracing the delicate flesh, the ropes that bind caressing with a forbidden sensation so sweet it does quite more than inflame your heart. 

The fear of such contact, the subtle harshness brought on by the vital sting, will subside in time for it shall be replaced with an exhilaration surpassed by anything ever felt.
The shame of taking the plunge, giving in, exposing a desire so primal, so divine in its duality, will fade into nothingness for such petty things don’t mean a thing. 

The trust that is woven into this love, encompassing every inch, is one that is built on strength and confidence, all the stronger by abiding those rules, sacred in everything they entail.
The rush that is felt with every bright lash left, where every bruise will take its place, is unlike anything ever felt, something that can only fully be explained and realized by those who have beared witness to it. 

Push all that ridiculous bullshit you’ve read aside, the foolish fiction you think you’ve hungered for is inferior compared to the truth that rests within the restraint.
For that bestselling nonsense is mere child’s play in comparison to the magic of the night, the rising heat brought on by a greater way of loving. 

You will never know the true meaning of living until you let go, surrendering all hope, replacing your sorrow and helplessness with the greatest feeling ever conjured.
For in pain is where you’ll feel pleasure, every ounce of frustration, every ounce of apprehension falls away in the throes of a greater kind of trust, a brand new way of loving. 

…

Fuck your vanilla concept. 

© Copyright November 2016

Shadow Show

Immortality waits for no one, and I am no exception.
I have lived throughout the ages, my traveling carnival show bound by the splendor of the night.
My skin crawls with the intricate drawings of ink and magick for I am the illustrated one.

Blowing into town in the late of October, ushering in All Hallow’s Eve a week early, we’ve crossed the threshold to astonish and amaze.
Riding on the wings of Samhain, this is the time of year we have always lived for, when our power is at its brightest, all consuming.
Many have come far and wide to bear witness to the spectacle that is our shadow show, naïve nonetheless to the charming song the carousel plays, the promise of dark desires brought on by the piper’s hand. 

Traveling beyond the fabric of time, we venture into the Green, a town too humble, still untouched by our devious hands.
Of all the souls I have encountered, stolen with a sincere promise turned oh so sinister, there have never been any like those of Nightshade and Halloway.
Righteous indeed, albeit seduced by the mystery, the legacy of myself and the promise of youth eternal, they were always destined to destroy me for the humanity they possess deep within their souls is far too bright for the darkness that creeps across mine. 

Who knew two thirteen year olds would be my end?
I suppose the blood that runs coldly through my veins is much too dark, far too malevolent to last forever.
However the memory of my conquests, the lives I have annihilated, shall last forever for I am and will always be the illustrated one. 

…

The run was superb while it lasted. 

© Copyright September 2016/October 2016/November 2016

Lucifer

Resting so peacefully in the slumber of your everlasting grace, everything around me melts away.
For centuries on end, you have suffered, been feared, cast into the harsh darkness in which you are now accustomed to.
A darkness that will never hold back a being so bright, for your glowing presence shall blind those too ignorant to know that you are a representation, not of our flesh and blood.

Metaphors aside, I shall identify with you nonetheless for you personify everything I have ever believed, deep down to my core.
Even when I knew such thoughts would never bring me into that shining kingdom of the afterlife that they always spoke of, I could not bear to exorcise you from my soul.
With every thought, every possible second- guessing of my actions, I know not of where I would be without the beliefs I hold so close to my being, but with this undying conviction comes the question…

What if I am wrong, and forever damned to some vague, albeit graphic existence amongst the very realm I’ve so righteously denied? 

…

I gave up on fairy tales long ago.
I gave up on fairy tales when I finally gave up their God.

© Copyright November 2016