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the-book-diaries:

“Writing is a form of therapy; sometimes I wonder how all those who do not write, compose, or paint can manage to escape the madness, melancholia, the panic and fear which is inherent in a human situation.”

— Graham Greene, Ways Of Escape

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laments-and-burlesque:

You were cold, bereft; a star setting under indifferent waves

Soon to be consumed by saltwater and night

But don’t give in, my disappearing one:

I’m your a life-jacket, your solitude, your retreat

The hands you crave when it gets too much

So be prone, be still, be a good girl

Wash away in the tide

In time you’ll remember nothing, just this ocean-deep and solemn peace

Just this moment, just “right now”

Just you… and just me

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laments-and-burlesque:

image

Under your skin with my blood-thirsty neurosis

Begging me to hollow you out

“Slow and cruel,” you said

With your mouth gleaming wet and the word ‘sir’ on your whore-lips

Saying yes to my darkest of whims

Twisting me in circles, my soul is a rioting expectation

Darker, darker… and darker still

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The first time he went down on me was in a hot tub. We were horny teens out of town for a, of all things, religious convention! Other kids were in the hot tub. Unaware that each time he went under the water and rose again on the other side of the tub that in between his tongue was exploring between my legs. I was oh so grateful for his huge lung capacity. And that tongue.