How do you tap into the freaky side of yourself that defies all logic, feminism, and psychology? How do you write about the part of you that revels in gore and horror, the part that enjoys getting its hands dirty and playing in the blood and guts?

How do you write, and share, the part of your head that screams for taboo desires that you could never confess to anyone?

You take it one dirty word at a time. One forbidden thought at a time.

The journey of a thousand climaxes, and all that starts now.

Having you as my partner is so much deeper, visceral, and lasting than using you and throwing you away. You’ll carry this with you; you will carry me with you. I’ll slowly change you - dismantling and rearranging you. I know you want that girl back, that girl I stole. She vanished in the wake of me. You are a stranger to yourself. You are fractured now, I broke you. Your mind and thoughts and compulsions no longer feel like your own.

You miss belonging to yourself. My words, my violation - all of it still courses through you. You can't shake this. I marked you. corrupted you. You keep sinking, and I know when it started. I know when you changed. I can still feel your roots when plunging into your farthest recesses and burying myself within. There is no unearthing you.

You don't know where to put me; you can't make me fit anywhere. Your mind wants to exile me, but I won't leave. You don't want to feel incomplete. You don't want to be an empty vessel longing to feel full. You want the missing pieces back. Instead, all I gave you back were nothing but weakness and vulnerability.

You hate this gift bestowed upon you. That sinking feeling, in the pit of your gut. Your stomach, churning with guilt and need. Always the need. It’s something you can never escape, for the prison is yourself. Always in that mirror, opposite of you, looking back.

You may not know it or even understand it yet, but you can taste shame. Like a foul burp of cum, making you disgusted with yourself. Some days it is so bad you hate the image in the mirror. Let’s be honest now Most days aren’t like that. It's typically a mix of emotions all throughout the day wearing a bright smile on your face to gain the mere illusion of normality.

Speaking up to the people closest to you isn’t an option. They don’t know because they can’t know. You’d be ashamed for any of them to see the you that you feel and see in the mirror. You used to think that it was the mirror that was shattered, but now you know the mirror is intact, the image is what is fractured. Incomplete. Broken.

You try to come to grips and accept it. Chase that intensity that drives all the pain away with a different kind of pain. A glorious pain. But that never seems to be enough anymore. It feels good. But it’s not enough. You can’t sink low enough to drown either the “real” you nor the mirror image. Because you know there probably isn’t a bottom for you. That should scare you, but it doesn’t. Almost nothing does anymore.

You know you need me. Someone to see you without negative judgement. You need someone good to help you hurt yourself in a loving way. Your cathartic release.

The person who you can break down in front of. Be Told how dumb your face looks while you cum allover your rapist's/lover's dick. Be made fun of for your lack of experience. You need adoration and devotion. You need the room to be who you truly am. To be able to hurt as much as you want without worry of our relationship breaking apart because you go a little crazy. You need room to fucking let go.

I think that's why you became so drawn to me. I’m the type of individual that accepts and encourages indulging the real you. The side of you no one is supposed to see.

So are you alone here? Are you a freak even in this community? Are you just a sick fuck?

You're not alone. We will have each other.

You think you're alone. You think that nobody can except this part of you.

You're not alone.

Perhaps it’s true. you feel no one sees you. Maybe you’re an island. Maybe you’re floating through space, with no one to connect to or belong to. Maybe you’d give everything just to have a real, authentic moment with another human being.

There are so many of us. We’re all alone. We all want to belong to someone else. We want to have someone to communicate with. We want to share ourselves with people that actually see us for what we are. We want to be seen.

I see you…

I know…

I will love you, because you are mine. You belong with me.