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…

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.

rituals may make you late for work…be wary…

every time i say this is the last time…but as i pick at my old scabs, i wince with an audible moan of pleasure. i am back here again, sitting splayed legged on the small wall of my white porcelain tub, my legs draped in searing hot water…i am back here again willing and needing to be healed. i have too much that has passed between this porcelain and my body…these tiles have seen me at my worst and vulnerable…singing power ballads in the shower to me huddled in a ball scrubbing at my skin to the point of rawness…

the scabs heal slowly…they would never scar my skin but like a twisted child i pick at them with surgical precision, forcing them to imprint on my body like the riddling of shrapnel wounds…my blades sharpened to the point that they could cut air with a whiz. slowly i slide my favorite blade…Teflon coated (so nothing sticks to it) surgical stainless steel…under the purplish blue scab on my shin and flick it off with glee. dead and new skin rips up…straining to hold the plug at bay, bright red blood balling up at the upper left corner of the two inch scab…mmmm…god i love bright blood running down my skin.

leaning forward i ease my left bleeding shin into the boiling water…i wince at the sudden hit of pins in my cut, but i move down more, sitting waist deep in the searing water. red spider webs dissipate from my leg…floating in desecrating patterns from my shin…it looks like i dropped a blob of oil paint in water…beautiful swirling patterns are forming around my raised knee…circling it like a ring paying homage to my blackened knee…i feel spasms run up my leg as the pins circle around to my thigh…

its locked…my leg muscles have rejected the scab and it floats in the water like a dead cockroach. i almost expect it to start scuttling about in the water angry at my interruption of its daily Monday morning bath…now begins the ritual.

i need no light, nor do i need patterns to guide me through my ritual carving. the scars on my body pay enough tribute to my deviated mind…all i have to do is cut slightly deeper this time to plow through the scar tissue…cut cut cut….god…the hot water just furthers the bliss of a fresh cut…pins stab into my legs as i moan low and guttural from the bottom of my belly…

euphoric and blessed for the day…i apply shampoo to my dry bone straight hair and dunk my head backwards into the red water around my body…foam melts into pink cascades as it blends in the porcelain vat of my sins.

i have cleansed for the day, i soap up my body and brush it raw with my skin files…grained like sand paper, they leave little tell tale signs of rawness on my skin. having completed my ablutions, i rinse off and dress for the day. i need no bandages…the cold sting of the artic blast sends delicious lines of scalpels into my flesh…i remind myself to walk outside for lunch today, as i rush off to catch the metro to work…i can not afford to be late, i might be a sinner but i always come on time.

my best thinking i do on the train…

i saw him in the corner of my left eye, his back to me…on the last metro train of the night. i knew from the way his body slouched, fingers working furiously that he was getting off in the biggest way. he looked like he was fourteen with his red tie thrown over his rolled forward shoulders and his backpack over his lap…trying desperately to hide the intense hard on he was stroking. now i have no issue with any man or woman getting off, but it seemed ridiculous to have this young ‘man’ jerk off on the train without being entertained myself. say what you want…i’m a dirty bitch, but i wasn’t going to waste something so rare as an exposed, vulnerable and horny pervert…so blatant…on the train.

five stops to go…i knew exactly what i was doing as i slowly slid into the seat across this young man and without as much as a single glance at him and pulled my skirt to my thighs exposing my chocolate stockings. i heard his gasp as he caught sight of my bright red panties through the crotch of my stockings. my fingers touched my panties…and i started with a slow stroking rhythm with my index finger. four stops to go…determined not to look at him…i slowly increased the pressure on my panties…working the rhythm with two fingers as i stroked myself a little more furiously…i heard his breathing pattern change. he was speeding up…so close to his peak, but i wasn’t going to have him come so easily. three stops to go…what is the point of putting on a show, if your viewer can not last as long as the performer? exhibitionism can only get you off so far, i find it more of a turn on when the ‘other’ comes violently…

 i crossed my legs, blocking his view as i slide my free hand to my hip and gripped the hard seat to my left…moaning slowly i uncrossed my legs and braced my hips with my free hand in the space between my legs. two more stops to go…white knuckled i lifted my ass off the seat slightly as i fingered myself hard…giving him a full view of my damp red panties and my fingers sliding into my engorged pussy…straining against the taunt stockings. one final stop to go…his breath came in gasps and pants as he hit his climax..the smell of sex hit my nostrils like a olfactory bomb…instinctively i licked my lips.

the show complete and my stop finally here, i stood up, smoothed out my skirt and as the chimes rang…i walked towards the doors and whispered..next time i won’t wear any panties…