| now is | once was | came from | heard tell |

1:56 p.m. - 2004-06-13

blood

I pierced rows and rows of perfect matched holes down the curves of her breasts. Straddled her with my skirt hitched up, my knees digging at her hips. She tried to pull or push the clothes off me, tried to make it so she was really boss of this, of me. I swatted her away like a troublesome child, tucked her hands behind her back, and continued my work. Taking it out on her, this curled, poised, fear, etching her with my anger and disappointment. After a while she didn't try to interrupt any more, obeyed me as I told her to breathe, jolted a little as the tiny blades pushed through and under her skin. She knew my upset, knew it's why and and how and who. I knew her reluctant guilt, her cautious responsibility. And I needed her to sit there for me, to let me push myself under her skin with these little metal spears, take her blood into the air and tend to her wounds with my gloved special care. To make her bleed for me, pay a blood price in advance for my future pain at her gentle hands. When the time came I twisted the needles out, brutally. I wanted her to bruise. Dropped them into the sharps container which sat like a little box of lucky charms on the night stand beside us.

- |+

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