Can come in many forms.
Sex.
Alcohol.
Sugar.
While severity of the illness can vary, sometimes you are lucky enough to self diagnose. Sometimes just knowing what you’re doing isn’t good for you, but continuing to do it anyways, is enough to start the fight against it.
I love ignoring what’s good for me. In fact I love it so much, sometimes I actually just say “Fuck you Ally”, and continue on my blissfully ignorant way. But like all things that are bad for us, we know the pain is on its way: it’s coming in like a freight train, passing through a bleak and desolate town in the deep of the night. Waking you up abruptly and with a complete lack of sympathy. In some cases, we can build bad habits we just can’t quit. Sometimes, that bad habit is pain.
I remember when I was in high school my favourite subject was Drama. I loved conceptualizing stories in theatre. Carving out tales of love and loss to captivate an audience. I thrived on pulling out my broken heart and laying it on a table for people. I craved my next breakup, just so I could draw it out and make it bleed on paper. I have always been simultaneously a romantic and a realist. A combination which doesn’t allow for a true functional heart. I have always been torn in both directions. I’m addicted to what’s not good for me, just to make my heart beat louder, stronger, spread it through my veins. I need it.
I am weak. Bring me to my knees.
Waiting for me in his bedroom, I enter through his unlocked doors. The familiarity of the setup triggers a wave of sadness, brushing over me as I anticipate future feelings of nostalgia. He’s making his bed, struggling to maneuver the duvet inside its cover. My offer to help is met with his touch as he pulls me into him. He throws the sheet over his head in a spark of silliness, while he pulls me under. We slow dance to the beat of silence in the darkness of our cocoon.
I fall in love with the moments he gives me. Not many people stop to be present in the fleeting seconds of the day. He’s unique like that and I’m not sure he realizes just how much so. That’s the sad part about those who bring us the most joy, they are the most impactful to those around them when they are free from us. The more arms you wrap around them, the tighter their shackles get to the ground.
Could you love me instead for just this second? For the time it takes for me to take my clothes off? For when I beg you to put it in inside? For just the time it takes me to hook the clasp back on to my bra? Pull my stockings up to my thighs and walk down the hall?
Break my heart. Bring me to my knees.
I’m begging you.
“Put it in my mouth,” I gasp. You fuck me, bringing me to orgasm for the second time. The sheets are drenched with my cum already. My lips are going numb and I’m gasping for air.
“Put it in my mouth,” as my hand trembles its way to your cock. I spit in the palm of my hand to lay it flat against your balls. Rubbing them gently as I swallow your cock. Deep against my throat. You want more. You want my mouth on the ring of your ass. You want your insides wet. You want to lose yourself outside of your head. You want me to reach inside you and cum all over your heart. You want to feel dirty and used and so emotionless that you can feel your heart thump again.
“Put it in,” you say to me as I straddle your cock from above. My body floats on yours like a weightless stream of water, filling all your crevasses with my soft touch. My pussy making your cock glide in and out like a tide. You put your hands on my thighs to feel the sensation of the motion.
I grab your chest and squeeze. Gripping on for gravity. I feel you slip into climax. I let go so the only sensation you have is your cock deep inside me. Thrusting. Beating. Releasing.
I fall to my knees. Baby I’m a drip of water, trapped inside a waterfall. I put my legs beneath me so I can stand up tall. I use my power to tell the rest, “What goes up must come down, but the ride is well worth it if you choose.”
