my Russians fuel vices with creditcard debt…

most nights i sit still in my room, slowly rocking my body to a dull sleep. its become habit for me to often stay awake to the point of numbness and then pass out…sleep often brings dreams i tremble to behold. they unfold in my mind…sycophantic plays of bodies wrapped in slick papers, dripping blushes that travel down exposed skin in waves of crimson and purple. i fathom these creations in the day during my mind numbing processes of cut and paste cut and paste, as i pull together money from hysterical Russian perverts to fuel their vices. their heavy breathing, and flirtatious behavior does wonders for my craving ego, but i know that there is a line i will never be able to cross. this realization frightens me, for i fear that this single hesitation is being chipped away by the hand that slips further and further into the honey pot of vice…

slick and slithering shadows move in conjunction to a heavy bass beat in my mind…the whining of a low fluttering gale pushes together notes that explode into jumbled madness…throbbing migraines result as i bang my head against the keyboard. i have needed to expunge this chaos in my mind since i could sit still, but shame and fear has always held me back…properly breed and cultured lasses have no reason to be fidgeting in class, writhing in anticipation for the next ruler to smash down on their fingers. violence has always bought me pleasure, pleasure to the point where a thorough beating would have me whispering for more…

fuel and sustenance are all that i need. the madness i can easily provide, so much so that some have walked away shaking their head in disbelief. as the circle grows smaller and tighter my walls have grown higher and deeper in width, they engulf my frame as i strain to look past the creations of my psyche. few have ever tried to jump past the engulfing trenches and scale these false walls…many give up in the first few minutes of conversation with me. the dilated pupils, pursed lips and clicking tongue is a face that i know to well, for i have seen it on the faces of exhibitionists and introverts alike.

i do not know what drives me to these dreams. fantasies eager and twisted play out in my mind, disgusting things done by me…they make me tingle as i explain to my Russian roster that they will eventually get all their money. i have been known to stop mid sentence, glance to the floor and whisper sexually charged exploits to myself…its a guided tour and i know all the happening and dirty little places. places you want to go to…to be seen, heard, fondled, groped, ripped, stretched, slammed, mounted and when you finally are too dirty to enjoy, spit out. you will come back begging for more torture…this i know because i always do.