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 magic 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 immortality (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