𝐅𝐀𝐖𝐍•ᵉ ʲᵃᵉᵍᵉʳ

1

𝚜𝚊𝚝𝚞𝚛𝚍𝚊𝚢, 𝚜𝚎𝚙𝚝𝚎𝚖𝚋𝚎𝚛 𝟷𝟹𝚝𝚑

𝐈 𝐇𝐀𝐕𝐄 𝐀𝐍 𝐈𝐍𝐒𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐀𝐁𝐋𝐄 𝐋𝐎𝐍𝐆𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐓𝐎 𝐁𝐄 𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐄𝐃, to have my essence devoured in a way that transcends the physical—a haunting metaphor for love itself. The trauma of my past has intertwined with this desire, shaping my belief that intimacy must be fierce and transformative, like a fawn drawn to a bear. In my mind, love is a primal act that tears apart the facade of safety and exposes the raw, vulnerable flesh beneath. I yearn to be torn apart romantically, to experience a profound connection that leaves me both shattered and whole, despite the fear that such surrender might lead to devastation. The allure of being claimed is a paradox: it promises destruction while simultaneously offering the possibility of rebirth through the very act of being drawn into another's depths.
I crave a connection that transcends mere physical intimacy; I long to be metaphorically torn apart, my insides laid bare like raw meat exposed to the world. It's not just about sex; it's the desire to have my vulnerabilities on display, to have someone navigate the rib cages of my heart and uncover the tender, unguarded parts that I keep hidden. I yearn for the visceral experience of being understood, my scars and bruises embraced as they would be among the carcasses of life's struggles. In that raw exchange, I seek belonging, where my deepest emotions are acknowledged and celebrated, transforming pain into something hauntingly beautiful.
I find myself trapped in a tumultuous longing, yearning for a connection that feels impossibly out of reach. The shadow of my mortality looms large, reminding me that while I crave true intimacy, I fear the vulnerability that comes with it. So, I avoid deep connections, opting instead for infrequent, fleeting encounters that allow me to escape the weight of my emotions without fully surrendering. It's a way to feel something without the risk of exposure, but it leaves me yearning for the depth I truly desire. For now, I hold back from what I truly want, knowing that I'm not ready to risk it all for love—not yet.
My skin still carries the freshness of youth, soft and unblemished, a canvas that invites exploration and intimacy. I feel a visceral readiness to be taken, to surrender to the rawness of connection that pulses just beneath the surface. Yet, a hooded figure waits in the shadows, clutching a scythe, a constant reminder that this vitality is fleeting. I yearn to experience life fully, to immerse myself in passion and desire while I can still revel in this ephemeral beauty. It's a delicate balance; I crave the intensity of being desired, yet I am determined to embrace every moment, to dance on the edge of existence before the figure comes to claim what is inevitably his.
I long for a lover who approaches me with the same fervor a dog has for a bone, a raw and instinctual desire that ignites every fiber of my being. I want him to crave me, to seek me out as if I were a rare treasure, his introduction to me echoing the same urgency that pulses through my veins. Just as I am drawn to the depths of connection, I want him to be captivated by the essence of who I am, hungry for every layer, every secret. I crave that primal pursuit, where the world fades away, and it's just us—lost in the intensity of our desires. I want to feel the heat of his longing, the way he zeroes in on me, making me feel like the only thing that matters in that moment.
Years have passed, yet his presence still haunts me, an unwelcome ghost that lingers in the corners of my mind. I detest this man, harboring a dark wish for his demise, longing for him to experience the suffering he inflicted upon me. In my twisted thoughts, I've perverted the memory of our encounters, transforming the violence into a fantasy of consumption, as if he devoured me in a way that granted him power. Yet, in reality, he was merely a predator, and I was the prey. I want him to feel sick, tormented by the weight of his actions, plagued by the knowledge that he could never truly possess me. Beneath it all, I grapple with a quiet fear, an unsettling anxiety that creeps into my thoughts, reminding me that even after all this time, the scars of his violation still linger, casting shadows over my sense of safety.
I find myself caught in a conflicting longing, where the desire to be consumed violently intertwines with a craving for gentle touches. The thought of surrendering to fierce passion excites me, yet I yearn for the soothing caress that reassures my fragile spirit. I want to feel the intensity of desire while also basking in the warmth of a lover's gentle hands. This delicate balance creates a quiet ache within me, a yearning for an experience that embraces both the thrill of surrender and the comfort of tenderness, blurring the lines between ecstasy and safety.
Each night, I am haunted by vivid dreams that lay bare my most horrid desires, where the boundaries of pleasure and pain blur into a twisted landscape. In these visions, I find myself surrendering to the intensity of my cravings, feeling an intoxicating mix of fear and longing. Yet, in the shadows of my mind, the man with the scythe lurks, a silent observer of my darkest fantasies. His presence casts a chilling weight over my dreams, a reminder that the thrill I seek is forever tinged with danger. I wake in a cold sweat, grappling with the unsettling truth that my desires are both a refuge and a prison, each night drawing me deeper into the abyss of my own making.
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