Train Wreck Fantasy

She equates randomness with fate and fate with her lack of inhibitions when she hits the bottle and breaks free of her mind.

In the back of her heart are the lucid dreams of the little girl she once was before the world took away every fantasy and held it hostage behind smoked glass ever since.

There are some skies you can’t touch, not because you can’t fly but because your wings have been clipped together and the singular beat just isn’t enough to get you off the ground.

She can’t understand what living is for if your heart’s not racing or your soul isn’t pulsing its infinite cosmic currents like lightning across the darkened night. What is enough for other people never feels like enough for her but she can’t explain why.

Maybe she’s a glutton for punishment. Maybe she’s a freak.

When he ties her hands behind her back she feels like an angel come to rescue him from his demons, and demons there are many. They want love just like anybody else but somehow it all got twisted. Pain morphed into pleasure and pleasure blossomed into an exquisite kind of euphoric suffering.

There is a plane on which they are not opposites and not the same. A space where the two become one orgasmic experience.

She feeds on his distortions. He strokes her where the aching won’t stop until her tears fall like a fire which baptizes them both.

Did you think there was such a thing as a sinner, or a saint? Did you think you could decide which was which? Did you think you weren’t the sinner and the sin?

Her mouth is not for kissing but for absolution. When he covers her eyes her body screams and comes alive. He toys with her senses. Makes her wait.

Did you want to talk about love? Did you want to find out how much more there could be to this life beyond your wildest imagination?

When he emerges from inside the darkness she is blind to everything but the feelings which hang suspended in the air around her like puppet strings, like the taut silent strings of a most elegant instrument. An intricate web of static sensation. Everything is a high so long as it is uncertain. Unattained.

He will circle until the heat nearly buckles her knees. He will manipulate until she gasps when she tries to breathe.

There are some skies only he can help her touch.

Sometimes only imprisonment can finally set you free.

 

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Photo by Andriyko Podilnyk

6 Replies to “Train Wreck Fantasy”

  1. I know I had read–and liked–this before, but I am still wandering, and couldn’t help but pause at this: “Everything is a high so long as it is uncertain. Unattained.” So much of what you express, dear Allison, is desire; and its opposite, fear. Desire that stretches the skin. Desire prodded and pumped with things injected, ingested, inserted. Desires imperfect, yet perfectly enticing. Desire unattained. Is it that which makes it perfect? You keep me wondering about that. What it has meant to me in the course of this long life. And what it means to you.

    Liked by 1 person

    1. Thank you, dear George, for this precious gorgeous comment. It is a bit jarring to have a mirror held up to oneself but also I am enticed by your observations. Please I will sit with this for a bit before I respond … but do know I have it swirling in my mind. I am so deeply grateful for the time and care you have taken with my works.

      Liked by 1 person

    2. My dear George, I thought about this all night. “Everything is a high so long as it is uncertain…” it is the randomness of the satiation, the unpredictability of the satisfaction, will you be graced with what you desire, taste it, touch it, know it… or denied. When I think of desire, it is a suspension in which the outcome is unknown, unknowable, and in some ways which seem almost absurd, irrelevant. Whether one claims what one desires or doesn’t, once it becomes known it begins to ebb away from you. The way you seem to describe what I write, it sounds perhaps as though desire also goes hand in hand with a kind of manipulation, be it pure or impure. It is a play with power, dominance and submission, giving and receiving. This is an area of the human psyche I do have a fixation with, I suppose.

      Like

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