Waiting
What do you do when your scared to talk to the person you love?
I sit in the hotel room. Half naked. Waiting for you. Waiting for the right moment to tell you. But there is not right moment. I care about timing, about what you think, about what you say to me. You care about your cock and how much it gets to have fun.
The door creeks open. You come inside. You throw down your bag. That bag I dread so much. You smile and all I can see is a disgusting man that hates me. But I still don’t understand why I love you. Why I need to be with you. Do I hate myself that much? Do I need to suffer in order to feel love? Do I need to be degraded, to hurt myself in order to be a little happy? Or maybe I’m in hell. You’re the devil’s helper sent here so I can purge all of my sins. Why do I love you?
You slowly open up the bag. Whips. Ropes. Bandages. Masks. My face stays despondent. I can no longer feel any sort of emotion. The line between love and pain has become so blurred that they don’t exist as different single entities to me. I get into the usual position. Facing away. I’m not even allowed to look at you. You don’t think I deserve it.
Just once, I wished you could just hold me. Hug me. Stroke my hair. I’ve been waiting so long for you to do that. It’s becoming pathetic. But what can I do? Leave? I can’t leave now. I could have left 3 months ago. But not now. I’ve been waiting to tell you. Trying to find the right time. I don’t know when that will be. Maybe somehow it will go away. But that’s what I said about you. Now the devil’s seed has been implanted and I don’t know how to get rid of it.
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