i have been waiting here…since u walked away without turning around…

he left me in a lurch at the crossing gate…’wait here for me’ was the last thing he whispered as i pulled him deep into my body, clutching his soul with my shivering hands. i knew he was going to leave…but i held on because i was naive and blinded by the ar-rhythmic beating of my heart. i stood there with my back exposed to the passing cars…blood sliding over the scar tissue, mixing with the saliva and piss on the alleyway. the olfactory explosion was the only thing that kept me awake that first night…breaking down the scents of the stains on the scratched red brick wall i was facing…it was like a little game i played as tears blurred my vision.

my body was in tatters…his last session had left me completely spent. i stood…wavering between absolute collapse and orgasmic highs…my fingers dug into my forearms as i stood waiting. i waited and waited till dawn broke…i waited even though my knees buckled under stress…i waited patiently as the three high school boys found me on their way school at 7:45am the next morning…who brutally raped me in turns…holding my limp bleeding wrists down with doc marten boots…i waited silently.

i waited silently…and i know i most probably wait some more by the side of this road…in this alleyway, brutalized by the men who stalk about here…i wait silently…for my irregular heart beat to start up again…

rusty blades make such pretty patterns…

i have changed…slightly and metaphysically. i am no longer bound by tradition and ‘what will people say’. i am bound not by mothering instincts, demonic desires and insane pleas of sexual favors…i am bound by nothing. i have been moving around, pushing further and further than i thought possible…but i am lost at sea. i have no tether…i am lost…floating in a void of misconstruction and lies. i feel lost…

he has disappeared from my life. i have no ritual bleeding to attend to, no right of passage that i must suffer through…no desires that are being fulfilled. he left me like a thief in the night: covertly with black fingerless gloves…leaving tattered prints on my bruised body. i have been carving maliciously recently…but to no avail. i bleed when i stand…my legs buckle under the stress that i have induced. i have been sitting on my hotel bathroom floor…blades at the ready…i throw up a little and cut slightly deeper into my thigh…

my dresses are in shambles…i refuse to have them lengthened because i miss him…he has ripped me apart and i simmer in the heat of summer waiting for him on the doorstep of the gallery. the leather shops and alley ways hold my gaze no longer…i need him inside my mind. he has always been the only thing that drove me to my highs and guided me with surgical precision through my lows…i have nothing left to bleed…i am rotted and dried from inside…

i stopped smiling a long time ago, patodia does not understand this wretched husk that slams doors and shivers in the intense heat…it is hard for me to function, to be alive and breathe…to pretend that i am alright. i have been having horrific dreams….things…things that i can not even fathom when i am awake…i stopped sleeping some time ago. i run on caffeine and drugs, trucker pills by the bottle full…i thrive in career and on the surface, but i am losing in life. i have sacrificed myself time and again…and yet here i am…waiting on my knees…ready to be lead to the back of the barn to be dismembered. now…if i can only find someone brave enough to wield the rusty blade…

leather arm chairs lead to laughter…

he took my innocence in the first minutes he actually touched my body…his fingers laced into the raven hair that covered my bleeding face. i knew he would break me, but the savage way he had pinned me to the floor had shocked the both of us. he was brutal and furious…his fingers shoved into my trembling body like a piston, he pumped and i bleed…i shook with the impact, my fingers bracing my body against the hard brick wall…my fingers and hands raw from the friction burns. i was his and his alone, he had claimed me like a rag doll…he shook me from corner to corner, my limbs and hair fluttering limply in the bristling autumn gale…

i had begged patodia to up my medication for the past three visits, and he had only put off the conversation again and again. today as i stood in front of him in his plush office, i had mindlessly taken of my shoes and slung my exposed legs over the chair arm. my legs on display…i had told patodia about him…how he had been stalking my every move for the past three weeks, how a simple hello had turned into metaphysical conversation of religion and self sacrifice…how he had asked about my opinion of bodies and space…of cutting and blood…of suicide and eternal damnation…of love and the lustful desire of the perverted psychopath…how he had stared into my hazel eyeballs and had whispered ‘u and i are alike…but u are a blank canvas that i can work on…u have yet to be formed, and the man who carves u will be lucky’…i had breathed in deep, i felt like ice had been coursing through my veins. i bleed that night, but i shivered as i cut, my fingers unsteady for the first time…

patodia only shook his head and stared at my legs. patodia has been discouraging me from meeting him…patodia has been a more of a lover recently, one who has yet to touch my body, but has made love to my mind though his prose and his insight. he stood up, visibly upset at my mention of this new man in my life, and as he circled the chair i was sprawled on…patodia’s fingers brushed against my right thigh and…stopped…his warm fingers slowly ran down my right leg. his touch was as light as a breeze…i sighed softly and closed my eyes, my body arching in the chair…forgetting for a second where i was as instinct took over. patodia’s left hand slid up my leg…closer to the ruffled hem of my skirt, and as he moved his fingers under the hem…i sat up straight.

this was the second time patodia had purposefully touched my body…the first time was in the empty stairway of the morgue…the electric shock of that touch had shattered both of our illusions, and we both knew that this was a dangerous path we were ignoring each other on. now his fingers moved under a spell of their own, his face betraying the absolute shock that he was feeling…i could see it on his face, he was as confused as i was. he snatched away his wandering hand, and wrapped his hands around his body…i pulled my legs into me and i looked away. my heart was pounding in my throat…my body lit like a raging oil field, liquid pooling in my body….my fingers snapped around my trembling legs like clamps. he wrote something on his notepad with his back to me…i glanced over and saw him tremble…his left hand against the table, his wedding ring winking at me. we had crossed a line…his body betrayed him, the same way my body craved him…i shivered in the leather chair…i had to leave before i destroyed a family…

i stood up…gathered my shoes and bag, and as i walked quietly to the door…i felt a hand on the small of my back. patodia turned me around and kissed me ferociously…sucking in my breath and sealing his lips around mine…i moaned and he pulled me closer…our bodies stumbling into each other awkward and clumsy. his hands around my hips, he pulled me closer to him, his body leading me towards the chair i had just vacated. my fingers sliding down his back and in the tangle of limbs…i made contact with his hands, and for a second my fingers brushed against the cool metal of his left hand. i pushed his chest away from my body, breaking the kiss.

panting, we looked at each other…desire and horror mixed in our eyes, drunk on the kiss we stood in a glass room…the mirrors showing us the tandem thresholds we had crossed. still holding my shoes and bag, i ran to the heavy wooden door and stumbled into the hallway. wild eyed and jaded, i ran through the hallway…ignoring the stares of the nurse and the other waiting patients…i ran from the un-crossable lines…relationships i had never meant to complicate…i had crossed a line, and i would lose someone who i trusted…i ran because i knew what this would mean… i ran because i had finally become what i despised, a whore.

as realization dawned on me, i stopped in the middle of the sidewalk and surveyed the scene. i was standing in the middle of downtown, in a purple dress…barefoot, running blindly. i slumped down and i laughed hysterically…i laughed at my stupidity…i laughed at the way fate played games with me…i laughed because i was a slut. i laughed because the other alternative would have broken me. i laughed because i knew not what else to do.

breath is like glass candy…it cuts when i suck in…

i wanted to cry out loud…to march up to his laughing face and claw his eyes out today…i wanted him to scream, and beg me to stop…i wanted him to become ‘emotional’. i wanted him to bleed…i wanted him. i sat there and watched him talk to his friend, his back to me while his friend watched my every motion and expression. i am so transparent…my face displays my ‘wants’ like a billboard on a freeway. i drank my soy latte, a phat beat courtesy of jam master jay pulling me towards oblivion.

he broke my heart…crudely on the subway as we tunneled furiously towards my waiting family. he left me frustrated in my red car, my heart bleeding on the pavement as he slid into his waiting ride and drove off. i sat there and in a daze called my hysterical mother, told her i would see her the next day and i drove. i drove the whole night…ecstatic and mindless…i drove and when my vision blurred from the water that seeped silently from my eyes…i drove some more.

my brother finally found me holed up in a seedy motel three days after he shattered my senses…i called him at midnight from the payphone. i had run out of steam…i was completely ripped apart at the seams. he had come in a rush, afraid of my affinity to suicide…he drove for fourteen hours straight to get me home. kevin and my brother banged on the motel door..i listened to his begging and pleading…’open the door, hon…please’. i sat there, my fingers raw and bloody and finally whispered into the eerie silence…’it’s open…it’s always open for u homes’.

i have never heard my brother scream out in my life…but that crisp august morning, i think the whole sleepy hamlet heard a hoarse cry rise out from a 22 year old throat…crackling like gun fire. he slammed me on to the floor and wrestled away the blades…my fingers and hands an intricate artwork of bleeding lines. kevin stood there..he watched me in awe…i sat on a purple clotted patchwork sheet outlined only with fresh burgundy. on my stomach, i had been cutting my hands for the past four hours…my body draped over the bed, my feet bleeding over the edge of the bed…pooling on the floor in a crusty pile.

i was in the hospital for three weeks after that bastard broke my heart…he lied to me at every turn, pretending to be someone he never intended to truthfully become. i bleed crimson tears for him…scar tissue on my body will never allow me to walk onto a beach without causing a ruckus. patodia put me back on the higher dose, and i swam in my mind for a good chunk of time.

i saw him again on the subway today…and picked at the scar on my right arm…i bleed crimson for him, but i have no colour left in me today. today i will bleed black…i have no light left anymore. i function and form because i must, because i am grateful, because i have life in my womb…and…because i finally have nothing else to offer my creator, except the shallow breath i suck up like candy.

i have nothing else to give…i am spent…i have been living on carefully spelt out prayer…but i have no love for faith and no real belief…i run empty…i am a shade of the girl he broke…i am a blackened shade of my former self…i am…

…ahh…’to do’ lists…why do you mock me so?

today, it seems this urge to purge myself has set in, in a longing to be free of my demons and haunting. it is an uphill battle, up a slippery slope of laughter and ridicule…but one that i desperately want to climb up. with my stones around my neck, i have managed to take a few feeble steps up this gigantic slope, but it seems every time i think i have made progress, i fall back on my back…sprawled and hurt with this looming climb towering over me…this image has started to keep me up at night and i am tired of these images in my mind, playing on a constant reel of epic trailers…fighting to control myself is like trying to squeeze dry play dough into a broken straw.i know it can be done, but by the gods that mirthfully scowl at us humans… it can not be done by me.

my illusions of self have been shattered, by my own hand…but it is in the constant willowing of self pity and pathos that has lead to this…isn’t it? i do not understand this need…this purging of self, both mentally and physically…the control that i have on the food and thoughts i take in is absolute, but i still purge, viciously. retching out my guts i get a sense of peace. as i sit on my tiled floor among the spittle, debris and fallen hair…compiling lists of things that have yet again gone wrong in my life.

there are never ending lists, things that i know will never get done…but yet i write them, putting down my ‘to do’ wants, needs, desires and illusions…they collect in my bag, my agenda and my books; mocking me in their listings…mocking my lack of execution and pseudo attempts at ‘following through’. it is this execution that has always alluded me…i can plan and create with the best of them…but execution and acting upon these guidelines…this i can not do, nor do i have any drive to complete.

…yet here i am.

its been some time since i’ve written anything on a regular basis, but it seems that i have been falling into a nonsensical rut…i feel like i’m crashing and burning. patodia urges me to write…but i am afraid to expose so much…he keeps urging me to talk to him, but recently the madness that is my life has shut me down. the ever increasing dosages are forcing my mind to do flip-flops…i am afraid that i will reject it all…its been a creation of my own hands, this pit that i have fallen into. emotional highs and lows carted together on a never ending see-saw, my own created demons taunting me to get off this hell ride. but yet i cling on for dear life, refusing to budge from what is obviously a bad situation. why has it come to this…have i truly gone off the deep end to have my life fall down around me in a mess of few too many un-kept promises to others and shattered images of self that i refuse to even look at, now that they have been exposed as my own creations?

has my mind gone blank, what am i honestly doing here in this space…clinging to my juvenile delusions of ‘fitting in’ with the popular people, and ‘finally getting it right’. i know that this is not me, it has never been me…i have been always far too removed from the ‘normal’ people, and it is not a dream that i should be chasing at my age. but yet, here i am…begging to be seen as part of their group, any group for that matter. i am standing unclaimed…but i watch from the distance…i need to belong…

i am lost…my body has been tempted and mistreated for far too long. the temptation, fetishes and now the added on pills have long ago shown me their ways and effects on my psyche and my body, but new things have crept in. images that i have always tried to adhere to are finally in my grasp, but i succumb to the weakness of my self-sabotaging mind and have created new demons who taunt me in my waking hours and have now crept into my sleep…

my new fixation has shifted from my never ended need to harm myself to the control over intake…be it food, water or anything. this is new…food is an enemy now, the constant ebb and flow of these morsels i put in my mouth is starting to retch out of my system, by my own hand…i know this is not what i should do…but it feels so right. i have control…control of something that is mine, and mine alone. far too long have i gone, moving to the drum beats of those around me, but this is my creation, my baby if you will. this is my fight against me, and by god i will win it, even if it kills me.

i know not if anyone will read this and relate, but i am compelled to write. the forced upon isolation in my own mind is driving me crazy.. i feel like i’m losing a battle i should not even be fighting…yet here i am.

gleaming metal boxes are my private heaven…

he moved his fingers closer to my thigh as my fingers tried pulling his frame closer to mine…icy fingers left goose bumps as they slid up my left leg, my skin alternatively being scorched and then repeatedly dunked in ice cold water. he has been teasing me like this since he sat down on my bed…his fingers lace with arsenic under the flimsy hospital gown that hides my frame.

they had moved me into my own room since the last time he had visited me, after my mother had insisted that i be isolated from the other crazies, because ‘her daughter obviously was not one of them’…and patodia had gently laughed in her face, making my father square his massive shoulders threateningly. i felt like an abandoned toddler at a lonely park, my caretakers all fighting amongst themselves for custody…i did what i did at the age of five…i wandered off through the hallways.

panicked, they had all scattered through the different halls…nurses, doctors, aides and my frantic siblings…they all were like rats trying to find the moving cheese. patodia found me in the end…in the stairwell near the morgue. i had been watching the cadavers being covered and uncovered for the past three hours…families learning that death had snatched away their loved and unloved ones. human emotion is a fickle thing, we pretend to ‘feel’ something when we are being watched…but turn the lights and cameras off and the truth slowly flickers out. i watched a woman’s derange smile, her teeth glistening a bright white in the gloom as she gleefully watched the aides peel off the covers of an old man. i imagined disgusting things…things that would make someone smile so blissfully…being done to that woman. i imagined her on the floor begging to be forgiven, his hard fingers slamming her head against the floor repeatedly. i imagined her sobbing softly as he heaved himself over her limp body, thrusting repeatedly into her bleeding cunt. i imagines her naked on the floor, bruised and battered…watching the belt whiz down. i imagined me…

when patodia touched me, i screamed out loud…i had seem him approach me, but i had never expected him to actually touch my body. it was an electric shock…an instant reaction, unabashed he had smiled, pointed to the morgue and placed his index finger of his right hand on his lips…like i was a child. i wanted to yell…i wanted to scream…i wanted him to rip me apart. i stood there dumb and…as he held my hand and lead me to the elevator, i answered the question he had posed to me the night before.

‘because i deserve it…because i am dirty, because i must be punished’

he looked at my lowered eyes, shock so blatant and unmasked on his chiseled face…for a second his mask had fallen out of place. he was a man, a jumbled up mass of clay, blood and latent ideas…he was human and vulnerable…he shivered as he reached the elevators…his hands slid slowly to the control panel. he had know what i know now…he had fed his need maliciously taking from those he tried to help…his need in turn has shaped him.

he was in the same place as me. he struggled to replace the shattered mask…but i had seen his hesitation. i knew that he would never ask me that unanswerable question of ‘why’ again…his mask in some effect covered his flittering eyes….and the double doors to the elevator closed with a audible sigh. he and i were on the same ground…dirty and needy…we both knew where this madness would lead, but we kept silent…our bodies sliding closer in the gleaming metal box.

state your desired position…

i saw him again today, his face a myriad of emotions as he finally realized who i was. his fingers laced hard within the delicate tapered fingers of the blond standing next to him…he pulled her close into an enveloping hug…his eyes begging me to stay where i was as he looked at me over her delicate head. i stood there with my soy hot chocolate, smiling as dj tiesto pumped through my veins, laughing softly as he reacted exactly like the dirty pervert he was. i had seen both of them the minute they had stumbled onto the platform, laughing and shoving each other playfully. i so desperately wanted to walk over to the young couple and tell the pretty blond that her man had jerked off to my exhibitionism in the train…that he had enjoyed him self thoroughly…that he had reached out for my body as i walked past him, his fingers sticky and gleaming with cum…that he had asked me ‘when’?

i have been taking an earlier train home for the past few weeks, and have been unable to reconnect with this young man…but as i looked at him over blond hair…i knew that he had played the scene over and over in his mind. how did i know this? the blatant lustful looks that he shot at me, the hunger in his eyes, the way he licked his lips…meaningfully…as he stared at me. if he was not with his little blond…

as the metro whizzed into the station, the young couple shuffled into corner seats and i stood at the door…my left hand gripping the dividing pole with a hard determined fist. i watched them both…feet splayed open, my body weight on my right leg…i waited. he was watching me, his hands buried deep in blond hair, his eyes on my face. with a slow movement, i slipped my free hand into my bag and pulled out my red lip gloss. looking straight at him, i put it on a fresh coat…and as i finished the last sweep of the brush on my lower lip…i slipped one of my fingers in my mouth and sucked it gently. he was watching me…boring into my skull with his intense stare, his fingers sliding down from his blonds’ hair to her exposed neck. he pulled her close and leaned over to kiss her slowly on the mouth, he acted out the actions…but he was looking right at me.

the young Arab man to my right had been watching this little exchange of stares and as the train pulled into the next station, he mysteriously lost his footing and bumped right into my body… his quick fingers sliding down my breast, instinctively i softly moaned…his fingers stopped instantly as he sharply sucked in his breath. he pulled away, mumbling an apology…i laughed softly. my young pervert had been watching, and he was not impressed…nostrils flaring…he buried his fingers deep into his blonds’ jacket, and she squealed like a four year old. i love how men have an instantaneous response of ownership to any body that they think belongs to them.

i stood there, swaying to the clacking rhythm of the train, my eyes closed as i tried to get some sleep. i am a certified insomniac…i have not had a full eight hours of sleep in one night…since September. i have always had issues with my sleeping patterns, which in turn has forced me to develop coping methods when it comes to slumber. i can sleep almost anywhere, anytime…in any position…its frightening when people see me on the train, i sleep standing up…completely aware of the two sets of eyes that were boring holes into my skull…an excited fourteen year old feeling up his blond girl…and…the inquisitive and increasingly horny Arab man to my right. feeling uneasy and completely at home…i slept for the rest of my trip back home.

silk against naked skin…tubes in my belly…

today i finally realized as i walked through the freezing cold that i need to get some of my priorities straightened out. i have never been able to change my life style…i am stubborn and refuse to change anything about myself. i think the freak out i had when i was younger has made me deathly afraid of becoming someone i am not. i am afraid…i do not understand why i am so frightened of doing things that makes me smile…is it the psychopath in me that forces me to be unhappy.

i feel like i have lost him, lost him in the shuffle that is my passive self…he filters in and out like a fluttering plastic bag against the blood soaked background of my life. dr. patodia has become my focus…the only man in my life who has yet to once turn around and question my need for carving my body into oblivion. he listens without blinking…his white knuckled hands holding onto his desk in a grip that could rip my body in half. i want him to reach across the three feet of space between his body and mine, and touch me…feel my thumping heat and shivering fingers…pull me close in a bone crushing hug. i want him to hold me and tell me that it will be alright, that he can cure my ills with heavy medication, that he understands my needs, that he feels my body heat…that i will be okay, that i will recover…that i will heal. i want him to tell me that my plastic bag will stay grounded…that he will understand me in time…that i will finally be loved the way i desperately crave.

i first saw dr. patodia four hours after my brother found me passed out on my bedroom floor, in the grimy sea green halls of the hospital. i remember his t-shit vividly…black def leppard…as he walked up to my father and directed both of my parents outside the curtained walls. they spoke in hushed tones, and in a few minutes my mother ripped the curtains apart, marched towards me and slapped me soundlessly across my face. dazed i sat there medicated out of my mind, tubes running deep into my belly, pumping out the poisons that i had ingested. too weak to respond, i bowed my head down and turned into stone…words were said, tears were shed…yet i sat there staring at the lower left outline of def leppard on his shirt. overnight observation nurses pushed my hysterical mother and stone faced father out of the ward and still i sat there…looking at the sweat stain that had darkened the left armpit of his t-shirt.

he sat down with a thump on my cornered hospital bed, the military corners binding me into the covers…the night nurse hovered around my body…suicide watch is a bitch and a half. i sighed and hugged my knees into my belly, my lower body aching to be violated. i waited for the questions to start, i have always been on first name basis with my shrinks…my mother has had a few on speed dial, there have been times where she hits 5 on her cell phone and whispers ’she did it again’ and hands me the phone… but patodia sat there in silence the fingers of his right hand inched closer to my exposed left foot. he touched my left foot and i shuddered…patodia started speaking…his voice soothingly low and measured, like silk bands being pulled across my naked thigh…that first night he only asked me one question…’why?’

jesus…ur skin looks like its peeling off…

it has been years since someone has seen me completely naked…i am diligent, i only show small potions of flesh…unscarred to those who do not understand my fetish, scared to he who plays beautifully with my skin. even he has never seen me completely naked…barred and soul trembling…he had asked me once to strip down for me…but that is the one thing that he has never broken me of…i know he craves it, to see me at my most vulnerable….flesh trembling and aching for his touch…goose bumps on my flesh, fine hair on my back standing at attention testing the air that swirls around our bodies…

it is frightening that he has seen parts of my body that most women hide from their lovers…the back of my knees, where he spent hours just exploring them with his tongue and fingers; the curve of my hip…that entranced him for a few days…he was enamored by my jutting out hipbone as i laid down across the table; the webbing between of my feet…the delicate torture he put me through with his teeth and matches drove me to madness.

i come to him in disjointed pieces…he asks for something specific the night before, and i deliver it when i come upon him. there have been times where he has tried to slide his fingers into the taunt vinyl that hides my body from his touch, but safe words protect me from his inquisitive fingers.

my family does not understand my love for flesh and pain…scabs have always resulted in scars on my body…i am demented…i have picked scabs and eaten the hard flesh off my skin in front of my brothers…they do not understand it…even he does not understand why i never heal completely. hard flesh, loose skin, nails, mud, scabs, chalk, paper, rubber, oil, flowers, grass, glass…i have ingested it all with relish…

today, my mother actually screamed out loud in horror as i presented her my back to zip up a dress i was trying out in a boutique…she screamed out loud…loud enough to have this plump blond sales associate run to the change room to check on us. even she stood and watched me in horror…i have forgotten that my body is something that one has to get used to. the criss-cross raised scars on my back, coupled with the burn marks and fresh razor scars and the blackened bruises make for a beautiful composition…but many do not understand this performance art on my skin. the blond plump one only uttered one word before she turned away, ‘jesus’…my mother trembled and sank to the floor.

i have lived under the same roof for the past twenty five years, my parents have seen me through my worst…the damage that he inflicts is just a fraction of what exists on my body…i was scared way before he came into my life. that night i spent my night back in my box…i thought i had escaped this prison five years ago…but here i am again. dr. patodia is a strange man, he reminds me of one of my brother’s best friend, the only one i wanted to fuck so desperately. by and by i find that i would really like it if dr. patodia flipped me over on his mahogany desk, hook my legs over his shoulders and fuck me… i sit in the deep red chair at his desk and drool over his taunt muscular body, his eyes on my heaving breasts as he tries to fumble through the psychiatric questions that he has all lined up for me.

i usually only wear my supportive corsets when i visit him, with my buttoned down shirt stretched against my naked chest, gaping holes between the buttons…i see the way he looks at me, and yet he is the best psychiatrist i have ever been to. his questions are quick, precise and probing…like my scalpels…he gives me the opportunity to talk to him in my own terms. he knows my history with my fetishes…he has in turn guided me to less destructive and ultimately more creative outlets…i started writing again because dr. patodia thought it would help me verbalize my inner demons…though he has never asked me to exorcise them.