It’s going to have to be soon.

When I went out, I was kidding myself that I was not looking for anything in particular. But I was. It showed in what I packed- lengths of rope, jennings gag, gloves. Pacing inside my head was a hungry vision, looking to feed.

Ropes for the tears and the sentance that they hand down. Gloves for that extra layer of distance, making the most intimate contact a violation. The gag to show me what I want to see, what I always want to see.

But all that is just window dressing for what I really want. The private hell of the ropes is just a curtain jerker. Then the words would start, the whispers, the poison. More than ever, if I am not deep insde someone.. chewing, gnawing, ripping… then I am wasting my time.

The place might as well have been empty.

It’s still rattling it’s cage, pacing my skull. Hissing.

Someone is going to have to bleed for me.

It’s going to have to be soon.

“Is it any wonder I can’t sleep…”

-The Smashing pumpkins, Eye