alex adams : “thank you”
You’re better than me. Fierce and irrepressible, you exist. Your superiority radiates out of you like heat. It encloses me in light. You sealed me underwater and I bless the fluid filling my lungs. The less I breathe the more I love you.
You’re my saviour. I’m invertebrate when I’m in your arms. I’m a creature, a serpent squirming to the gigantic music of your breathing. I cannot speak. I cannot touch. I cannot move. Thank you for tearing out my spine.
Your beauty breeds terror in the deep cavities of my chest. You are huge. You have power. I have no choice but to love you. I’m your slave, your property, your thing. I love your ability to crush me.
It feels good to be used by you. I’m not soiled. It’s not contamination. You purify me with your hot breath. I am aflame, glorious, throbbing with servility. I obey you completely. I suck shit off your fingers, I swallow my tongue. You control the rhythm of my breath, the speed of my heart, the shape and texture of my body. With the tip of your mute tongue on my lips you command me. You choreograph the intricate, subtle motions of my fingers. You orchestrate the pulsing motion of my pelvis. Every inhalation of thick dark air is taken with your permission. I am pliable. Clay. I crawl for you.
Your cruelty is a sign of your love. Your violence defines me so I try to deserve it. My body begins where your fist stops. Your hands on my skin show me where I end. I am the flesh within your grasp. When you punish me I discover myself. When you’re inside me, when you smother me, I know my name.
I am a part of your body. You fill me and I become you. The hot air in my lungs tastes of the filth in your acrid, stinking gut. The bitter spit on the sinewy slug of a tongue you force into my mouth tastes of your infinite voice. Each hammer-like blast of your thick, heavy heart forces dark salty blood through my weak, undeserving arteries. You are the smoke I breathe, your delicious sweat mixing with the tar spreading throughout my fibres.
When you empty yourself in me I glow. I hum with life. Your pleasure, your energy rests inside me, concentrated into a red orb of heat smouldering just below my stomach. You fall onto me in exhaustion and your suffocating weight warms me. You engulf me. The red swollen chamber of your womb surrounds me, numb and amniotic. I float in blissful, liquid, physical emotion. When you leave I feel hollow, as if miscarried. Without your body next to me, I cease to occupy space. At the moment of departure I become a vacuum: lifeless, inert, grey, boring meat.
I can taste you on my body. I am not alone. A thin film of your animal scent is always on my skin and I pray for you to renew its venereal potency. I pray for the next time the creature between your legs calls to me with its dark fleshy perfume. I pray for the next time you wrap your thick fingers around my ribs. I pray for you to force me, to distort me. I pray for you to choke the sounds out of my throat. I pray for you to animate my meaningless, pointless body. The thought of you grinding the pleasure out of my hips fills me with a self-destructive lust. I long for your control. I long for your contempt. I long to see the victory in your eyes as you force me to orgasm again. I long for you to be saturated, swollen, bloated with desire, I long to disgust you and I long for you to fuck the ugliness out of me.
You know my thoughts. You can see deep into my contorted mind and I cannot hide. You know what I want: to be annihilated, consumed, blasted apart, atomised. I want to be ash, dust, blown into the street, exhaled, coughed up, metabolised. I want to be used, exhausted, spent, discarded and forgotten. I want you to dissolve me entirely in your pure, distilled hatred and shut me away in a hole of absolute gravity, on the other side of the world from your memory, so that I will never have existed.
Alex Adams is a 25-year-old musician & writer who currently lives in Newcastle-upon-Tyne, UK.
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