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


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


I’m full of static energy, my mind racing from the electricity you sent coursing through my veins.
I can feel it to my very core, with the nerves that connect with the sensation of touch, the remnants of what you left behind, a surge that sets me on edge.

With every look, I feel my heart beat even faster, the clichéd butterflies in my stomach still aflutter after all this time.
I cannot remember what it was like before you came, or rather I don’t think I want to because I know that I am not the same person, the change nothing short of extraordinary. 

Despite all that we have been through, I cannot imagine myself without you in my life, for I do not wish to relive those months of estrangement, a matter that rests coldly in the recesses of my mind never to see the light of day.
Regardless of any imperfections, the oddities and uniqueness that bring us together, make our hearts beat as one, I cannot imagine myself with anyone else for you are my dominate. 

Your touch will forever set my skin ablaze. 

© Copyright October 2016


In the state of a perpetual high, I feel nothing at all.
My mouth went numb the minute I bit into your light blue surface, releasing a force that could be felt all the way down in Hell.
Pieces of you washed down with whatever caffeinated liquid I have at my disposal, your healing power almost supernatural. 

I felt this kind of presence before, only encapsulated and about half the speed, not reaching its destination as quickly as expected (and desperately wanted).
Like so many times before, I cannot imagine enduring the cramping spasms brought on by this teenage disease without your everlasting relief and guidance.
With said relief, however, comes the occasional question of how long will I need you, how long before I become immune to your charms? 

Thank Lucifer I have you and the power of this paper and pen. 

© Copyright October 2016


You dominated my walks home, breathing a soothing solace into the chaos that surrounded me.
You burrowed your way into the Summer months, thrusting your beautiful beats, your sensuous words into the forefront of my mind.

You graced me with your presence in my darkest hours, when I thought it to be impossible to carry on any longer, when all hope seemed to evaporate before my very eyes.
You seized my imagination, my creative drive, and cast it in the most spectacular light, reassuring me forevermore that this is the reason Lucifer put me on this Earth, saving my life a thousand times over. 

You forced your way into the darkest recesses of my soul, awakening a passionate lust for another’s domination, a whole new way of loving.
You inched your way across my spine, opening my eyes to the limits that can be pushed, the blood that can be shed and the bruises that can be felt, inflicted in the utmost confidence and trust. 

You set my heart aflutter upon meeting you in the flesh, and despite the black Sharpie on black leather, words cannot express the ecstatic joy and gratefulness.
You calmed my nerves (while also setting them ablaze with excitement) upon seeing you in all your glory, making lascivious one of my favorite words forevermore. 

The movement that you’ve started and everything it encapsulates is a thing of beauty, an evolutionary feat that will shape this culture of despicable hate into one of enlightenment and open-mindedness.
Shattered are all notions of the norm, for it is the unique and the blaspheme that shall reign.
This movement and everything it encapsulates is a thing of beauty, an evolutionary feat that I am more than happy to be a part of. 

This is where it begins. 

© Copyright October 2016 


It’s the loneliness of early morning, the empty hours suspended in what feels like days.
That is when it will come creeping back, crawling at the very base of your spine. 

The raw nerve feeling, the reminder that will always be there, whether you feel it constricting or not.
It’s the dull ache, the dull ache that can turn into the cruel twist, like that of a meat grinder, at any moment.

It will turn you into a breaker of hearts, a killer draped in flesh.
It will turn you into a walking ghost, a murderer drenched in pain. 

The consequence of your isolation is deafening. 

© Copyright September 2016/October 2016