Sometimes it’s called an episode. I think I may have had a mildish relapse. The repercussions of which still resonate through me mody and bind. At least lucky enough to know how lucky I am. To have someone who understands me, stands with me, helps me, accepts me. Accepts me. Tries to accept and understand even the hardest things I choose to do. Still a glorious and unstained mirror ready to show me a light in myself I struggle to see.
My arrogance is a bitter meal. I’ve added sugar. I’ve added salt. I’ve tried cold and tried it hot. It is very hard to swallow. Pride. Arrogance. They are my defenses. They are my guides. Did I fail at something? Ha, who cares, I’m so amazing and do so many sick things, really doesn’t matter to fuck up once in awhile *runs fingers through hair before shooting you a finger gun and a wink*. Without that, what will I see? What will I face?
Suddenly pleasure doesn’t come so easy. Eyes wide as pies stuffed with suffering. Though the rocky and emotional and absolutely wrong path I took to get here has had a taxing effect on myself and everything I touch, still I thought I was bigger. I guess I’m not.
Wrestling with myself over knits I dare not pick. Head down. Eyes low. Why is this like pins and needles to me? I don’t need to ask what’s wrong with myself, unfortunately it’s slowly becoming a little more clear with every gasp and sigh.
Pressing my face against her chest. Shocked at her strength, how easily time blinds us. Familiarity can be revealing or deceiving.
All in all in all in all, I am relieved and content in her arms. The wilting and crooked thing I am. Bend to myself. Bend to balance. Bend to a Mistress I am just meeting, though long known.