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I crave him like a storm I can’t escape. He’s the chaos that steadies me, the force that pulls me back when I fly too high. When I start to soar, losing sight of where I began, he drags me down, not to break me, but to keep me grounded.
In his hands, I find my center, twisted as it may be. He holds the power, always one step ahead, knowing just when to tip me over the edge and when to pull me back from the brink. There’s something dark in the way he balances me, something I can’t name but can’t live without.
He’s both my undoing and my salvation, and somehow, I need both.
I wear my confidence like armor, but it’s the leash I crave most. I burn too bright, too wild, and yet it’s only when I’m someone’s toy that I feel safe. Ironic, isn’t it? I build myself up, only to hand over the reins.
Let them play with me, shape me, tell me who I am. There’s freedom in the surrender, something untamed in giving everything away while still holding the chaos.
I need to be wanted, craved, consumed — not because I’m weak, but because the thrill of being possessed feeds something deeper inside me. It’s not power I lack; it’s vulnerability I fear I’ll never truly touch. To be controlled is to be seen. And in that twisted attention, I finally breathe.
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