Third Day of a Seven Day Binge

If you think about it, it's kind of fucked up to have Marilyn Manson on your playlist for sex. I get off on violence and cannibalistic urges. What to do.

I like it rough.

I like it hard.

I like it impersonal.

Carnal and dirty.

Animalistic.

Raw.

But passionate, oh so passionate.

I'm the kind who'd fuck your brains out and turn around and go to sleep. No cuddles. No romance.

I don't trust love.

I trust pleasure.

Endless pleasure.

The pleasure that stimulates my cunt, stimulates my brain.

My window to a different dimension.

Orgasms that show me the way.

Into the light, the white light.

Take away my power over myself.

The gates won't open otherwise.

The walls won't break down.

Kiss me as hard as you can.

Kiss me everywhere.

Mean it.

But how can I get there if the journey is gentle?

My body is the vehicle to my salvation.

You can scratch it.

You can sink your teeth into it.

Hold it tight as you send me into another world.

But at the end of the day, can you love someone you have sex with?

Can you have sex with someone you love?

memorium

All my losses have made me a bitter person.
The loss of innocence.
The loss of love.
The loss of loved ones.
The loss of a will to live.

Sometimes when I'm lying in bed trying hard not to break down and cry, I anticipate my cat curling up on my leg and gently purring me to sleep. But he's not around anymore. I miss him so much. I miss him like a mother misses her child. I try to think about what an eventful, what a privileged life I have, I don't have to worry about two square meals a day unlike so many people. However, deprivation is a relative thing and just because I don't live in extreme poverty and sorrow, does not mean that I am not suffering. It does not mean that my suffering is irrelevant, not painful enough.

Slowly but steadily this depression has taken over all the cells in my body. It now dictates who I am. It controls me. It causes me to isolate myself from everyone around me. I've built myself a nice wall and I allow nobody to break it down anymore.

I like to think of myself as a princess sometimes, waiting to be saved from her loneliness and her unending tragedies. I have waited to be rescued for quite some time now and I'm starting to think that there is no saviour, there is no prince to my story. It's just me, alone, all alone. I will either have to rescue myself or perish nameless and faceless, not to mention loveless.

Where is my will to hold on?
It never existed perhaps.