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THE PIERCED NOTHING

Her skin is textured fabric and a lovely pair of… at odd eyes of ink black and sheen green. Cherry cheeks, heavy handed for his amusement. Lips sewn to silence just the way he likes her. Living only through him though she’s not alive. Criminals steal hearts as well at her lovely, warped sight. Her face overcome with raw beauty and unrequited longing…sometimes with every tick tock of his thick c(l)ock. Her party mask put away for the evening easier for the lingering shadows to find her. Others may not understand the slow bleed, but he does. Or the demise of her assembled heart stitched together from all the best materials and time spent with him. She stuffed full of his sinful vengeance and an assemblage of herbs: lamb’s cress, plantain, mayweed, chamomile, crab-apple, fennel, and thyme because that’s all she has to kill. Threaded tight and fleetingly sated with curves in all the right places. If she dare tear at the seams his needle work will do the trick but the price she will pay is steep. Candles flicker in the howling wind a pleasure watching them melt away drip by delicious drip. Taking delight in his cruelty and the suffering of others. Associating the hurt, wicked deep in hells pitch-forked seclusion fueled by his malefic ways. The foregone Cajun Gris Gris mee-maw taught her in distance’s past, soft at first, gentle to the ears. The heat begins to build as the chanting is spoken murmured merely through his lips The lovely locks of his victims’ tresses wrapped artfully around her left mauler tangled up in the colorful pricking pins of many sticking further into her the deeper you thrust. A little taste of flesh her sweet savage has awoken. In lust’s midnight hour tell her about heaven with movement not words. She gently squeezes her patchwork thighs against the cool, keen blade. Now silence her inner hunger by tasting her heightened fear. Whispering thighs of spent pleasure cascading down his face, and licked from his hungry lips. Enjoying her contorted face of ecstasy, though too soon he’s gone. Left to writhe and moan unattended, she consoles the numbness by baying at the moon in wicked tongues birth clawing at its distance, her appetite still ravenous. May she suffer one time more please? She’ll place simpering kisses upon his adored feet clean and always attended to by her. She’s hungry again… he knows but for now, he’ll let her starve until the sharp pricked needles are all she dreads but all she craves as well.

Copyright © | Year Posted 2021




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