I thrive off of a dark soul. It’s not that I don’t enjoy happiness, or those who express an elevated state of joy on a regular basis. As I often say…I don’t think defining a complex mind is that easy. I am not referencing a depressed person, or someone who has deep seeded pain and suffering which manifests itself in inflicting pain upon others; unfortunately, I see too many of those kinds of people in the world, the kinds of people who bring pain upon others to alleviate what resonates within them. I’m talking about the obscure soul that clings to the darkness for its beauty, holding tightly though a metamorphosis into something beautiful. The caterpillar to a butterfly. I understand how deliriously cliché the metaphor, but allow me to explain: I don’t think butterflies are more beautiful after they have gone through a metamorphosis, rather they are simply more colorful with broader wings. They still cling to their previous physique, looking rather wormy and unappealing. They clung to their ugly and became something more beautiful, towing their darkness along with them. That’s the kind of soul I find nourishing in this vast land of superficial happiness.
I believe the most elevated, mind-blowing, and euphoric sexual experiences exist within the darkness of our psyche. We hold these beautiful images in our elevated storage, locked away behind the bars of societal acceptance. These images hide behind the cloak of assimilation. They are fearful sorts, bashfully crouching in the corner whilst our more “pleasant” visions step forward in the light of acceptance. If you ask me, it’s those visions I find wormy, unappealing, and void of beauty. They are shallow, stem from minimal creativity; these visions transform themselves and show their faces proudly in open, observable world. I fail to find sexual nirvana in a field of yellow daisies, slightly bowing their heads to a gentle breeze. I find sexual euphoria in a perfect storm; powerful, dark, omniscient and destructive. I want not a wall to remain, a brick to lie there, or a cobblestone of stoic composure to exist after a sexual experience. Gives a whole new meaning to making it rain…
I thrive on his animalism. I drink up his power as if thirsting and stumbling upon a stream. His desires should radiate from his fingertips upon the collection of my skin, with a purpose so strong it leaves bruises upon my delicate flesh. He shall paint the canvas of my body with his fingers, bent strongly at the knuckles, leaving red paint strokes of fervor upon my skin. Ripples of plush breast escape through the separation of those fingers, groping with unrepressed craving. Five finger pads dive deliriously into the lining of my sensual hips, so deep as if intended to touch finger to bone. Capillaries merrily collapse under the force. The caterpillar to a butterfly, a mere blood vessel giving itself to the light, revealing the beauty of sensual release. Wings to new heights.
I ask you to lose yourself in the depths so repressed, not a shred of light exists that we don’t create with the radiance of our own shared desires. I ask that you go to the place where your “demons” lie, and allow them to find solace in my open arms. I can taste your desire to overpower me, and I can smell your seething for release. I know your darkness grasps upon the bars of restraint begging to reveal themselves. I, lying there, spread myself wide in acceptance. I will hold them close, bringing warmth upon their chilled negligence. I will ignite them, invite them, and allow them to permeate my soul to a place of approval. We only truly exist here; bare, stripped of the collage of expectation that becomes our face, the mask that conceals the true animal.
I will have you so removed from your evolved brain, you render yourself inhuman. I will have you so primal that you only seek to remove your teeth from my flesh as you notice my body buckle under the pain. I will have you utter sounds undistinguishable to those civilized. I permit you to release the power you’ve been told to curb. I will have your testosterone coursing so gloriously through your veins, you find yourself void of all rationale. There is no room for thought between our compressed bodies, animal. No accommodations for manners amongst our seeping bodily fluids, animal. No space for judgment between the depth of your cock and my stressed vessel, animal. No acceptance for masked sexuality in this sphere, animal. I will have you rare, exposed. I will have you reacquainted with the spirit you shelved. The spirit that was pointed at, ridiculed, and accused of being dirty, ugly, sinister, strange. I will erase the memories of desertion upon your animal within the baptismal fluids of my sex. You will be reborn primal; your darkness turning to light, “demons” dance amongst us, acceptance encapsulates us, “strange” is welcomed here, bizarre is amongst company.
We, the dark ones, have no interest in you beautiful people. You delicately dance atop the sheets covered with boundaries delightfully freshened with Downy. We writhe, hand in hand with our demons and celebrating the dark recesses with sexual decadence. You do what you believe is beautiful, afraid to release yourself into the depths of your sexuality, a foot firmly anchored to expectation. We approach the cliff, fling ourselves off and fall freely into the fire. You enjoy the safety of delicate hands controlled by a manipulated being, a diluted prowess, a whipped rebel. We enjoy restraining the body, while freeing the mind, emancipating the soul. You enjoy your human. We plea for the animal. You need the light to see color, and we cannot see color until we’re plunged deeply into the darkness.