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…

…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.

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.

blood on carpet…vinegar does nothing…

i jumped out of bed early this morning ready for my meeting, strode into our hallway only to thud onto out carpeted hallway in horror…why is it only the beautiful who are struck so violently?  my heart in knots i have been clutching at the cordless since morning, trying to make sense of it all. i feel like in moving in a haze, mind clouded with a marshmallow fluff that i am trying so hard to slop away with my shaking fingers. i feel disjointed, my limbs in suspension and pulled around helter-skelter like a marionette…i am a doll running on the strings that i have always fallen back on…

 its hard to see him like that…vulnerable and sickly with tubes pumping life into him…ventilators pushing stale oxygen into the lungs that have always held a kind word or a complement for any who crossed his path…his parched dry lips crackle like paper, i have to look away to remember the soft easy smile that always greeted me as i pulled up to their home…he has nursed the people i love with my heart back from deaths door…and now i weep to stand at a cross roads. 

i am closed…i have nothing left to offer, my tear ducts are dry, only salt lines my face…i stand behind glass walls with numbed skin and unanswered prayers…

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.