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Young hearts be free tonight.

Cry

Serendipity once said

To love is to suffer. To avoid suffering one must not love. But then one suffers from not loving. Therefore to love is to suffer, not to love is to suffer. To suffer is to suffer. To be happy is to love. To be happy then is to suffer. But suffering makes one unhappy. Therefore, to be unhappy one must love, or love to suffer, or suffer from too much happiness.

Which may be well and true.

I feel light. Like air, almost. A good cry does that to me.

A friend once said that a good cry is like a kick in the balls. Don't hold back what you throw up and you'll be better for it afterwards.

So it was one of those nights. Where words fail me and the heart bleeds with happiness, sadness, melancholy.

A good cry starts in the deepest depth as a hiccup; a wave that then forces itself through your body and escapes in a sob. Should you be too proud of heart like myself, trust me when I say do not hold it in. It will deceive you.

You can let your body be wracked by sobs and have not a sound come out, but sometimes every gasp of air does us good. Let the hiccups turn to sobs, and remember to breathe. They'll subside and you'll be the better for it.

Though you must prepare for puffy eyes, a sore throat and aching muscles which strained to hold your sobs in, thus don't be too proud of heart to cry. It will hurt.

But yes, a good cry makes us warm, when tears fall on the one who holds and won't let go.

Always

Apology

The Goddess strolls down the Champs Elysees in her six inch heels and apologises to no one for her lack of posts.

Crack

They dance behind my eyes...I stare at the colours, wondering how such gorgeous undulating motion is trapped behind my eyelids, that no one else can see. So beautiful. So soft and so warm.

The one thing they are not, is a distraction.

Crack. I feel the whip draw across my shoulders and cringe. Wait for the next one. Wince for the next one. Suspended.

Crack.

"One". I want to sob. I won't. Breath caught in throat and muscles tightening across my back...taut, hard. Reflecting pain. Absorbing the sting. You sense my tension.

Crack.

"Four". I can feel the pull on my arms, my toes just grazing the floor. The hot white lash across my back which hurts but oh feels so good.

Crack.

Stop. Don't stop. "T-twelve". I whimper. You stop and I cringe in mercy. Please...

Silence.

My eyes open behind the blindfold; eyelashes wet with tears. Escaping down onto my cheeks; my throat. They betray me. I betray me, for all you asked for was silence.

Crack.

"Twenty". Harder now. I wince. Draw my muscles tight together. I can almost feel you smile, you sadist. You love it. You know I do.

Crack.

"Twenty five". Oh, that burns...that burns and I can't keep a sob in. I choke on my own tears and you stop.

Crack.

I can't count...I've lost count. I sob through my Twenties. Crack. Thirties. Crack. Forties. Anticipating, wanting, fearing.

Crack.

"F-fifty". My body hangs marked, like a limp puppet I no longer feel alive. But I do. there's a fire running through my veins, a warmth spreading all over me...marked.

Owned, and I'm let down from my cuffs, my arms aching, my body pressed, tightly held against his and sobbing to my heart's content and calm. Wrapped in the arms that know me best.

Carried to the bed, laid down, with the wicked pulse between my legs far from satiated.

"I love you, master".

Tease

Eyes level pushed backwards falling soft wanting hard eyes that don't leave hers rove round don't stop watch dance around the room original bedroom rockers it doesn't get better with a feather boa oh and leather don't forget because your eyes are just for she..

See the hands that rove that tease that touch that smile on that face so naughty she can't resist and sticks her tongue out grins and spins around loving every inch of skin against silk that falls to the floor wrapped in the curtain pulling away out behind her like wings she's laughing smiling at your face tangled mingled glee so what if neighbors see..

Watch it slide soft down her arm all that lace all that skin so soft so hissingly soft it won't stop oh don't stop theres one more strap to go thats it just the other one away don't stop moving I see the heat the windows steam and carry on with one button two buttons three four five..

It's still on why's it still on burning up burning lust burning to stroke every inch and yet struck still by one word one glance one move you can't move mesmerised by every lock of hair strands that fly around her face in heat stuck to skin by sweat and there it slides the last string through the last hole she turns away she pulls away that string flourishing ballerina that she was..

It's off now boned on the floor you see marks on her back laced up so tight and you desire more desire now and watch her turn but no what has she done she's holding whats left those straps that sweetly hold her waist and she pulls one down the other down and it slides rustly to the floor and you can't look anymore..

Visions swimming everything's swimming she turns strikes that pose sticks out that tongue and you know what's coming you think you do and then she's over in one stride leaning down and your lips find hers no she finds yours and you feel the smile on her lips and taste her joy in her dancing tongue

She's gone again fallen again love again on the bed again all against you head against heart and deep breaths that echo the stroke of her hand slow across you around you pulled closer nuzzled lust warmth and they get deeper with every curve and slowly slowly with a smile safe in your arms aching in your arms she drifts off to sleep with those shoes still on..

Tease.

Overwhelmed

Sometimes it feels like we have too much to do, in so little time. I would not know how to explain the feeling, except through analogy. It is almost like when you are in primary school, and are at the top of the school in primary 6...but then you get to secondary school and you're back at the bottom again.

Life is strange that way. It's just one climb, then a slide down the other side over and over again.

How many mountains will we have to climb?

Wander

Wander though the trees, my love,
Under the weeping willow,
Feel them brush your cheek, my love,
Whilst in the wind they blow.

Whisper in his ear, my love,
Watch him shrink away,
Smile in disbelief, my love,
Maybe another day.

Wipe those pearly tears, my love,
Let silk caress your face,
See them disappear, my love,
From your warm embrace.

Walk beside the river, my love,
Lighten your heart and step,
Forget the memory, my love,
Another life's mishap.

Sleep

I can't sleep.
Two days of motion sickness...and the only movement I've done is walking. I don't know why I feel this way but it sucks. I can control my retching now, though. Water stays down...food doesn't.

I'm so hungry. I havn't felt this hungry in years. Not since my haunted battle with anorexia/starvation. I feel weak. The small things exhaust me..walking to the kitchen..bending over to pick things up off the floor.

I hate hunger. I suppose this is why I can't see anyone go hungry...I want to feed the masses, I really do. Sometimes food is the best way to a person's heart. Other times it is simply survival.

I feel so weak..so drained of energy. I don't like blacking out, either. Twice today. But I'm so tired, I'm dreaming of endless sleep..it won't come.

So very hungry..and tired..

Peeve

Why do people always confuse spelling between 'lose' and 'loose'? It really does quite worry me. 'My duck is 'loose' makes hardly any sense, unless you're letting it get away from its leash or its just very randy.

Hmm.

Its been a contemplative weekend, but I am happy. There are just some things in life that aren't worth questioning, and others that will drive you mad until you do. I suppose I belong to those addicted to the latter category..born with a fixation on the 'why' and 'what' of things.

I've found a wonderful place to walk instead of around the lake. It's just as peaceful and I'm willing to share it with anyone who's mad enough to walk with me. I spent a good four hours feeding mouldy (read: extra nutrients) bread to ducks and swans and coots. They were happy.

The best thing is that where I go to walk, there is no end...well, there is, but I'd have to walk through several cities and possibly the majority of the country to get to it.

I miss not being able to go to places that are dear to me, but I don't regret the fact that I've learnt that sometimes it is nicer to find places you love on your own. It takes the edge off of things and you know that you never have to share, in the most selfish manner of thought. What's that saying... life is meant to be spent, not saved? Or was it live every moment like it's your last. Aye, one of the two.

I feel like I've grown extra-large metaphysical bollocks AND got my shit together. Bring on the ducks, there's plenty of Poojs to go around. She'll feed every one of you.

Veins

I ran back to the circle after switching off the lights, scared of the dark, but excited.

Something was going to happen. I was pleased, I remember. For being asked to turn off the lights. I love that hush, when the lights go out, and the rise in sound and chatter when everyone realises everything will be okay.

Everything was okay. The spotlights came on, and they were harsh as I lowered myself into my little space, my gap in the circle. Watching my shadow lengthen and darken those directly across. I wished I was that tall.

I stretched languorously, letting my toes push down into the squirmy carpet as I flumped down. I love that feeling; wriggling your toes in scratchy carpet. My socks had coe down in the foray of the dark so I pulled them up, one by one. Sat, huddled, with my knees tucked into my chest and staring around the circle.

It was so bright, I thought, as I stared straight up into one of the halogen spotlights. My eyes hurt so I shut them and all I saw was red. I turned my face away and tried to look across the circle. Seeing spots for faces for a long moment. They were all wincing at the light that shone right at them. Their eyes were smaller than usual.

I looked down at the carpet, at my shadow. It had shrunk...slithered halfway across the circle and stopped. I listened to the tinny sound of the voices around me. This room did funny things to your hearing...it was all muffled.

He had been lying on his stomach, beside me. I stared down as his hand moved. It was so white...so white and pale against the deep purple carpet. I saw his wrist...I stared for a very long time, fascinated.

His veins stretched across the back of his hand in large fan shape...I'd never seen that before. So prominent. So starkly beautifully scary. The veins of a boy. The veins of a young boy who knew too much about drugs. The veins of a boy who'd had too much and lost too much weight.

I was fascinated. I wanted to reach out and strum my fingers lightly across them. Like a guitar. They stemmed from his lithe wrist like the roots of a plant and I wanted to grasp his wrist and gently stroke up each vein. Trying to feel where each needle had pricked before.

The lights went down.