Hardly Sporting

I thought I knew what I was doing as I held your hand and told you that you were special. I thought I knew what I was doing when I spent so many nights gazing into your eyes and being entraced by your smile. I thought I knew what you were thinking as I was thinking that this was was going to last. It's hardly sporting that you didn't tell me what I told you. It's hardly sporting that you can change your mind about what I cannot. That I love you and you made me love you. And just like that I wake up alone and cold wondering what the fuck I was doing. Knowing that I had no idea what I was doing.

Waking up alone makes life hardly worth living.

Going to bed with you was all that kept me moving.

I'm frozen, broken , burnt and ash in your breath.

I'd like to write a word that didn't rhyme with death.

It's hardly sporting that you hit me from behind and expected me to ignore the blow. And, what was it again that I did besides treat you right? Is it you and not me? How tired is that tripe?

Sex Dream

I had a dream about you last night. You came into my room smiling and we held each other tightly like we hadn't seen eachother in a long time but with the familiarity that screamed with past lusts. Your blue eyes looked down into mine as the sun caught the golden curls tightly framing your face. The cold of morning brings gooseflesh to your arms that I kiss away with my warm lips. My hands slip under your shirt and feel your small breasts the nipples firm to the touch. I yearn to tear your clothes from your body and hold your naked form against me. And, as dreams are wont to do I find us now both without clothing. The pleasure of tearing them off off of you are denied to me by my own dream.
You are under me now your skin like white marble veined in pink but soft as rose petals under my fingertips. I kiss your legs feeling the muscles in your calves underneath tightly stretched as you lay on your back. I move down stroking your thighs with my lips and tounge. In my dream since you are to be a man you have a penis but your figure is not. I kiss your penis and in my dream this doesn't seem strange to me. It's flacid to the touch. Your body is hairless besides the fine hairs along your arms that lay sprawled above you as I explore with my mouth further upwards. Stopping to caress your torso with with my hands as I kiss you hips below your waist line. This brings soft sounds from your lips a moaning mewling that I've heard before. I move my hands down to hold your waist at their subtle curve while kissing all around your belly button. Your taut stomach is warm under my hands, firm against my mouth. Forward and upwards I move leading with gentle bites as my hands move back down to cradle your hindquarters.
I lift you upwards to meet my penis hard with anticipation and lust. My mouth finds the nape of your neck, I begin alternating between kissing and biting. You are so tight I can barely enter but I manage to slide in to you. Your passionate exclamation burns in my ears and causes my loins to tremble with nervousness and excitement. I begin to thrust slowly into you enjoying every sound that escapes your lips. As your mouth rests so close to mine I place mine over yours caressing your lips with my own. Tasting your mouth and eating your beautiful moans as they pass into mine. I move one hand away from your body to support my weight and feel your leg wrap around me into the small of my back. My other hand strokes down your other leg as I thust into you with more confidence. You reach out with your arms one hand behind my back where you dig your nails into my flesh and the other to grab my hair tightly. The passion of your grip brings a smile to my face and I press further into you. Your supple skin rubs softly against my flanks like silk as I slide in and out. Sweat beginst to bead up on your forehead and I kiss each drop away. The salty taste of your sweat begins to coat my lips, you turn your head up and we kiss again. Your moans reverberate through my lips and across my whole body Now the sweat begins to make our bodies slick together.
I feel your penis harden between us and this seems to surprise you. You tighten your grasp on me so that I lift you free from the matress an we rise and fall as one. My weight above you and yours under mine. We synch in a quickening rythym that causes my stomach to clench and fire begins to burn in my loins. My mind goes wild and I lose the pretense of being a selfless lover. I need to be buried deep inside of you. My thrusts begin to quicken and become erratic like your staggered and passionate breathing. Moving from a supportive position I put my weight down into you and wrap my arms behind your shoulder blades. I begin to thrust into you now with purpose and conviction. My every muscle being brought tight as I release into you as your scream is released into my ears. I go loose and lay my head onto your chest. Each breath raises your chest and I hear your heart pounding.

In my dream I love you.

Something Interesting

I used to think I wanted to be a writer. I still wish that I could be a writer but I lack the dedication for it. More importantly I lack the pain for writing. For the last year and a half I was happy and in a relationship. I wish I didn't know this about myself and even more that it wasn't true. I find validation through the eyes of others and peace in that validation. Without that peace I fall into a chaotic pit inside myself. There I'm in turmoil, there I can't sleep or stop the thoughts from coming. With this disquiet comes the words and the need to spill them onto paper. Spill them onto blank canvas where ever I might find it. It's been over a year since I've felt the need to bleed words. These black words that burn through my veins gather in the hollow that is left. Now they fill me, bloat me until I am a sick and grotesque thing.
I spill out these little black words and they don't just burn me. They burn the paper, butn the white with their dark disease. They come out clumsy as I haven't written in years. What was once pure I defile with these little flickers of darkness. Shit that is morose and so not the point.
An accurate description of how I feel and the kind of person I realize I am.

I'm an incomplete person with a sucking void in my chest. I have to have someone else to tell me there isn't an emptiness that is curled around my heart. Without that constant reminder, the continious lie, I can feel it ripping me open again. And, like all voids it wants to be filled. Like the creation myths of so many cultures. The void spawns. Nothingness creates and I want to tell my story for anyone to hear. I wish I could be happy with this state of living and even though I realize the truth, I don't care. I want nothing more than to be lied to again. I want to be told that I am complete and want to feel something in my chest which isn't really there. I prefer fantasy to reality. Without the lies to fill it up, it vomits out more untruths.

"Everything I tell you is a lie." I spoke honestly. Beautiful.

Stealth Musings

I wonder why we put so much importance on sunrises and sunsets. I mean sure they are pretty to look at, but it seems that humans have a facination with beginnings and endings. Is it because we glorify beginnings and live in fear of the inevitable endings? Or, are both of these moments glorified? Are they one in the same? A circle of life and death colliding with one another. Seperated only by the gentle breath of my shattered memories of her.