Muffled Moans
Shadows, corners, dark hidden places. Something about being wrong. Being bad. Draws me further down the rabbit hole. It’s become an addiction really, the darkness of it all. So much comes out in those moments, I feel more in those moments than any other. Guilt, rage, carnal desire, sadness, disgust, pride, excitement, fear, rebellion, satisfaction, hunger. So much feeling all at once. Highly addictive. Dangerously addictive.
And I’m craving it now more than ever. The cravings come and go, but when they come I’m like a cat in heat. I lock myself up and refuse to allow myself contact with any friend who might be made victim to my intense wanting.
Desparation. Flashes of scratching, biting, slapping, pulling hair, drawing blood…
My heart races.
But I’ve learned to control myself. I have a history of taking advantage of those who have made themselves vulnerable, exposed their innocent curiousities. I am a destroyer in these moments. I destroy attachments. They misunderstand my passion, assume it is something more than that single moment. And when I get what I want I walk away silently.
Without turning around or explaining myself. The phone rings. The message box fills up. The guilt sets in. Another number deleted. Another fire tamed until I neglectfully allow it to lose control again.
Again.
I’m ready for again.
I want to leave marks on somebody. On some unfamiliar body. Not his. Someone strange to me.
