alleyway visits have changed my body for the better…

he has moved on…i saw him today in the subway with his hands around her fingers…laced with arsenic i wanted to move in…and rip her fingers off his beautiful body. i seethe when i look at her…his new toy…she wears her scars with pride. her legs show new cuts…the pattern is amazing to look at, his hands are much steadier now.

two years…i have waited for him…my alley visits have left me tattered and destroyed, but i still go for my constitutional raping…the men who visit me are my regulars…they were brutal when they began, but as they realized i would come back again and again…empathy took over. humankind is a strange species…once we fulfill our primal sexual needs, grunting and brutal…mankind feels for the limp body that he has ripped apart. there is a fear now…they are afraid of me actually being here…they do not understand why i keep coming back…every night, at the same time…they wait for me in a jagged line.

i flutter between consciousness and madness when they come at me in droves…they are methodical, and have imposed rules on the way the game is played. they do not touch my face or my breasts…they only slam into my rawness and leave. i have no need to remind them about condoms….the old man who waits for me on the air mattress that they have laid down for me insists that they all have condoms on. this is my punishment. i have been such a whore to patodia and many others…this is my penance…my reward.

he knows this….he has come to watch me, i know this because i can feel his heartbeat thumping madly in my veins. no one loves like this without being in tuned to each others bodies…i know when he sucks on her taunt nipples…i can taste the latent milk in my mouth. i want to spit it all out…but i crave his touch so i swallow because i am tainted.

he has turned me into a depravation…a ’serial conversationalist’ as my siblings have taken to calling me. i think they say that because they are afraid of saying the ‘w’ word…that they think that i have crossed the line and am a whore. patodia passed by me at the grocers yesterday and he did a double take. my figure has finally become what i always wanted it to be…the space between my legs is raw and damaged, but the rest of me is clean and beautified. i feel whole…physically. patodia tried to remember me as i watched him from the corner of my left eye standing in front of the apples. when i softly touched his elbow in the soup aisle, he practically shouted out…

the tables have turned and the roles are reversed…his left hand has a tell tale tan and he is shopping in a small cart instead of a trolley. i am amused and intrigued. two years have changed both of us…i am shattered and incomplete, but have a sense of balance in my madness. he is shattered and completely broken…i wanted to hold his hands and tell him that i would always be there for him. he was silent for a good two minutes as he stared at my face…i smiled for him and as realization dawned…he smiled back and laughed softly. i had forgotten how beautiful he looked when he smiled…

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.

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.

i always make it home for curfew…

i woke up in a cold sweat today…the clammy hand on my back had been digging into my ribs displacing organs as he reached in deeper and deeper into my skin. its been sometime since i have screamed out in bed, so long that i can not for the life of me remember what i had called out…strange things have been coming an settling at the foot of my chambers recently, creeping about and catcalling as i strip for bed. it has changed, the need to lie next to a warm body… it has dissipated into something more intense…more alive and pulsing under my skin. i am alive with  only the memory created by my mind’s eye, limbs entwined and fingers slicked with blood…it keeps me alive and sane…

i miss him…my lower sensibilities ache for his presence, his filthy commands and hysterical claws in my thighs. is it wrong to want so badly? this created figment tortures me so, black pools reflect my face back to hazel ones, as he stares into my contorted face…tongue snaking out to slick back a gleaming razor. like an artist he is meticulous in his precision, though he lacks in the delicate skill of pulling my skin taunt as he carves. i always leave with gnashes where recognizable patterns should have been, my skin too destroyed to heal properly as i limp home. it is to be a continuous masterpiece adorning my body…it will take ages to complete for i have yet to learn the Herculean magic trick of displacing my mind from my flesh.

i call out in agony too loudly, and flustered he refuses to continue further with the maiming. he wants perfect silence…pin drop silence…he claims he needs to concentrate on his technique. he does not breath in when he raises his crusty blades above his head to my suspended thighs, but like a failed mannequin i shiver as the pressed notched blade cuts into my alcohol soaked skin…

he has given up for tonight, and i have been thrown out to the street, once again. i must have aggravated him with my involuntary twitching…cause i’m fucking filthy, bloody and ragged up lying on my back in a back alley of the city…i  know i look like i have been raped…my dress balled up in a corner, blood sliding down the cuts on my thighs…my black panties ripped and tattered around my knees because he didn’t even bother to dress me up again…

i realize i don’t even have my phone as i wince my way to the metro station…the looks i get are hilarious, whispers follow me as i stand at the platform in a ripped up aqua dress and no shoes…dried blood on my arms and down the hem of my dress. i know if i sit down i’m going to pass out, so i stand by the tube door swaying to the clack clack of the tracks. i have to be home in ten minutes…my curfew is running out.