| We all have the ability to cause pain in others by our actions. By our meager wills, we can accomplish great feats of destruction in the fetal psychy of the exposed underbelly of others. We have the ability to be hurt and the ability to hurt. We may justify why we do or do not wish to ravage someone, but the ability lays dorment even in the bowels of the loveliest flower. The ability to chide, the ability to hide the fact that we have cried at the expense of another. The curse to the self flaying the ventricles of love to chide loves pull against its strings. Because I hold this ability, I call myself a monster. That is only part of the reason. I dare not trust myself with the affections of love or lust because I confuse them. I feel so lonely sometimes that I feel I would do almost anything to have that touch, that slow caress against my face and strong, lasting hug that I become frustrated to the point that I would be driven to have any touch by any person wether they were willing to have my touch or not. Wether they were awake or asleep. I have hurt others because of my inability to couple with someone. Failed to love and be loved. I know not why I keep myself from this. I do not know if I am trying to save others the wicked pain I feel inside, or if I am a monster that will live forever alone in contempt. I have not raped or molested anyone in the physical sense, but I have pressed myself within the minds of a few. All I want is to be with someone and share myself within them. Most would giggle and think dirty thoughts at my last comment, but I do not mean only physically, but mentally as well. I wish for one to come and be able to walk through my heart and know who I truely am. Someone to touch every pitted, scarred corner. Someone to touch every beautiful facet that I have to offer. Someone to build and mold my heart into a house that will never break or threat a second morgage. Touch me. Caress me. Be forwarned, I will hurt you. That is my promise to you, whoever you are. Bittersweet tears mingle with the blood that feuls my love. I am a terrible and wrought contradiction. |