Freitag, 21. April 2017

gaps

And one tile is always broken
on the fourth step in the hall
the crack holdes the stairway magic
truth always hides in broken things

and one chord always skips
on your favorite record
in your favorite verse
repeating the words over and over
each turn makes it worse

and one letter is always missing
imcomplitation is what hurts
when your mind just caught the thought
but you can t form the proper words

when you do the toaster trick
when you hold your breath too long
when you set fires in your dreams
when you try to keep a secret
when the left shoelace is missing
nothing s ever what it seems

when you dive deep in the pleasure of discomfort
the curtain sets itself on fire

it s the gaps that burn down towns





Samstag, 25. März 2017

friendly fire

I wrote you a letter 
With fireworks in the sky
"You shine brighter than galaxies 
I love you 
Good night, good bye" 
The clouds danced in colors 
Then saddled the dust 
The air smelled of fire 
And we knew we must 
Move on 
I was Dancing in sunday shoes with short bangs 
the pavement blues 
With stray cats and small town ghosts 
The streetlights our noble hosts 
A celebration of things we lost 
I ll leave second hand flowers on your doorstep 
And wave you farewell 
Dress homeless in ballgowns 
You re one of a kind kid 
Stone cold like the moon 
Sleep tight in firework blankets 
we ll meet again soon

Sonntag, 19. März 2017

my pleasure, my pain

I had not seen it coming but you must have planned the entire scene in your head.
We listened to sad folk music in your room. I had been there before, without you. It was a different place now with all your stuff laying around. Socks, boxers, tissues, shirts... I remembered it plain, mysterious and inspiring but I also enjoyed your presence in this mess. You had forced me to sit down as you sensed I was scared. A smart move to lower the probability of leaving.
Then everything went pretty fast. One long intense look led to a fight. You understood immediately that your physical force turned me on. I liked your weight on my body and the submission it lead to, while you enjoyed the superiority and power over my skin, my legs, my arms, my uterus and my face. My body got wet and felt intense pleasure, which made me angry. My hand slapped your face with full force. You obviously did not expect this as you payed me back with double power. I could feel the memory of your fingers burning a mark in my face and the blood pulsing, creating a crazy heat that made my heat numb. Clothes flew and we got naked in no time. It was obvious that you would love to eat me out. Not to pleasure me but to prove something to your own ego. I would blow you for the same reason. What a bloody mess you created. You bit and scratched .. and we kept pushing each others limits. I saw blood on your lips and teeth and the scratches all over my hands. Hitting, spitting, moving, pushing... No mercy and  a constant power play. You found my weak spot and fingered me till I came, squirting heavily all over your arm. When I came, you pushed me down to ensure even in this moment that you were in charge, that you were running the scene, whiping the juice all over my face. My knees felt post orgasmic weakness, too soft to stand up. Sitting on your dick, I got into an insane rush of rhythm and sweat. I loved to see your body flinch and twich in orgasm and my vagina fill up with hot cum. I stood up and let it drop back on your belly just to smear it all over your chest, sticking my fingers in your mouth to make you taste your own weakness.
Hate raised in your eyes. You pushed me back down and fucked me mercyless, never breaking eye contact. Harder and harder with the will to destroy this entire scenario and me. I enjoyed the pain, always remembering that I d rather feel too much than too little. You came a second time, this time on my belly. Your left hand was feeding me with the cum while you gently choked me with your right one, biting my neck and spreading my legs to side so I could still feel your hard dick on me.
It took me a moment to realize: You had written the entire play upfront, directed it with force and persuation. I hated you and hated me even more for giving in. Slowly I took my clothes and went to the bathroom, saying i would be back in a minute. I left without saying goodbye,  without a shower and with the smell of piss and cum to guide me back home.
You left some bruises as souvenirs, making sure I would not forget about my submission too soon and who the boss in this game was. It s obviously blue that reminds me of you and blood that reminds you of me.

Montag, 27. Februar 2017

the challanges of growing a bush

I don´t really remember the last time I wore a full grown bush. It must have been one and a half years ago when my best friend and me took a several weeks long van trip along the atlantic coast. As most of the beaches along the spanish and partugues coast are nudist beaches I felt that a bush would give me more comfort in my body and a stronger sense of beeing a woman rather than a girl. Simular to tattoos bushes make you feel less naked regardless the amount of clothing on your body. Quite early in the trip the decision to let it grow was made. I disposed off my shaver and was curious where it would go. My secret wish was a huge black bush with glossy hair, that would reflect water drops in the sun and equal a very tiny bikini bottom. Unfortunately my pubic hair has a simular color as my eyebrows and my childhood hair (a dark blonde ginger tone, that s far from the dark brown or black I had imagined when starting).

The first three weeks were so incredibly annoying: it was itching stratching stitching! I could not recall that my bush hair had the feeling of thin wire and did not follow any direction, what a beasty behavior. Growing curly and twisted with a huge volume it managed to stitch through my underwear and create a weird look. The feeling was incredibly uncomfortible but from an esthetic perspective it started to look cooler by the day. Also the crazy amount of body fluids caught in there during sex is a nice erotic feature.
But do you know what the best part about growing a bush is? It s the discomfort it creates in other people! Whenever you go skinny dipping, drop your pants in the van or your bathing suit in the shower people would just stare with disbelive. Guess our internet porn education got us used to perfectly shaved vaginas that remind you of 12 year olds.
Two months in the game my bush had reached quite a size and challanged my nervouse limits. On a weak day this limit was reached: I just gave in and shaved it off. Beeing a queer chick I obviously get the advantages of a shaved pussy: no hair in your mouth while eating people out, cleaner, softer... but still there is always the feeling of sticking your fingers either into a child or a turkey (both definitely mess with my head...).
Images of women with insane dark bushes arouse me very easily and fill me with envy. So one month ago I decided to give it another shot. This time I´d write a bush diary to capture all the discomfort awaiting this project. My friend Matty sais you can t put a price on style and that I should just deal with it ( but he also added that he gets confused beeing presented this amount of hair on a womans vagina). Four weeks in the game I m already close to struggeling again: still blonde, still itchy still annoying.... but even if my fellow bed mates don t appreciate the curly nest inbetween my legs, the strength and unruliness of the hair feel crazy cool during masturbation. And there is one more month to go. I m exhausted and a little proud. Keep in touch for final results, whooppp.



Mittwoch, 15. Februar 2017

And there is magic

in almost every damn thing.
Especially in stairways, tooth-paste lids, spoons, kerbstones, wood and windowdust....
Please be aware: there s no magic in rainbows or yoghurt and there never will be.


Mittwoch, 18. Januar 2017

rats

this spaceship´s full of rats
mend with the vicars gown
ducktape, plasters, mull
fueled by boredom
fuel by dread
sour milk on wooden floors
broken jars and unlocked doors
chaos caught in sturdust clouds
flying by
flying far
flying high
crashing cars
is all that s left of us
we need a stop at the tentacle station