Words
Not for the meek, weak, timid or tender people of the world.
Are there reasons behind what I do and when I do them? Of course. I am a logical person. I live in the world of facts, of black and white, right and wrong. I acknowledge that I am not always logical, that I, in my imperfection, cannot always embrace the cool, 3rd party perspective when it comes to those closer subjects that I guard. We all have them. We all know how much we guard them, avoid them and do our best to shield ourselves from any rain that may fall into those brimming buckets.
I cannot explain how in one moment, I have shifted from still water to raging tempest. Faster than a car engine, reading those words simply triggered something. A need. An unstill, caged animal. Feral. That is the word I will use, but even it does not embrace how the need has seized me. I want to rip into you. Tear you apart.
Can you see how your posture has changed…How you, without words, have noticed the subtle shift in temperature, in tension? Has your need to fight arisen, or will you attempt to flee? Can you see your reflection in my eyes? Can you see how carefully the threads are starting to snap, breaking, piece by piece until that animal is free?
I want you to run. I want the thrill of the chase, of the kill. I want to pin you to the floor, my mouth at your neck, you screaming like an enraged panther. Slick and black, tearing and snapping at the air as you fight the inevitable mating that awaits. You’ve been bested by a stronger animal.
Your skin will bear my mark, left on your flesh as I mount you, and fuck you into that oblivion that will sate me, and ease that cold shell of ice that has formed in us both. I want to leave you marked, smelling of me, stinking of my touch, my seed, my skin, my sweat and blood. I want your body marked, sore, aching. I want us both to remember that neither of us is a container for the other, but pieces that fit together uniquely, passionately.
I want to violate you in every way possible. I want your tears tonight, pet. I want your anguish spelled on your skin in bold red letters of blood…D A E M O N.
July 4th, 2006 at 1:31 pm
Two observations.
First, excellent writing. No wasted words. The pacing is moderate in the first two paragraphs. The length of sentences and the number of syllables in the words, several of Latin derivation, produce a smoother, slower rhythm. By the fourth paragraph, the tempo increases with the short sentences and the one syllable words (”run” “thrill’ “chase” “kill”). Finally, in the last paragraph, the pace has slowed since predator had caught his prey. (The pace will quicken once again, but that is off the page.) The same techniques used to compose poetry have been applied here, very effectively.
Second, the meek, week, timid and tender will have to resign themselves to a scene in which what was once a predator now slouches in front of the tv, fingering the remote, while the prey loads up the dishwasher before retreating to her own stale lair.
Your way is better.
July 5th, 2006 at 1:01 pm
Délicieux, mais toi a su cela, droit?
-p
July 6th, 2006 at 8:07 pm
Oh to be posessed, taken so completely. I often wonder at the woman who doesn’t crave this perfectly primal mating, the being claimed through blood sweat and tears. Back that up…I don’t wonder…I pity her. She hasn’t a clue what she is missing.
Wonderful writing, as always.
July 8th, 2006 at 6:05 am
I want us both to remember that neither of us is a container for the other, but pieces that fit together uniquely, passionately.
Perhaps I am wrong, but this looks to me like the secret pulse here of this piece. The violated and yet inviolable, and the conqueror yet conquered.
But this may well be my own projection. I do tend to like contrasts and reversals, and layers of meaning, in words and also acts. I suspect that is a legacy of Catholicism for me–a tendency to look for multiple layers of meaning.
August 10th, 2007 at 3:27 pm
Totally mind blowingly awesome.. and then some!