Consumed
I'm chosen among all. Me. Of this numerous group, it was me, and no other, the chosen to fulfill her desires. I can see a light shining when she takes me, carelessly but in a delicate manner, as if it was just a trivial action. I fire up while her fingers caress me. I know she's playing with me: sometimes she lifts me high, other times she leaves me, and some more she just looks at me, as if she was hypnotized. When she lifts me, I feel my life vanish in her warm mouth, almost as warm as the heat I feel in this deadly game. When she leaves me, as if she didn't care for me anymore, she leaves me away, but still, she keeps me at sight, and in a short while she takes me again making the flames go up to my head again. When she rests her eyes on me, I must settle with the knowledge that, even though she is most surely thinking about something else, it is me the one who causes that hypnotic effect, maybe because of the wave-like movement of my life force escaping, perhaps even for the expectation of the pleasure that I give her when, once again, she gives me a taste of the warmth of her lips, which, at the same time, consume me. I can't complaint: I'm hers, and not the other way around. I know that. I'm in her hands. I feel diminished in her presence. I, who once was complete, under her eyes become smaller by the passing seconds. A part of me has been diluted on the air, on the flames that dominate me and take me to an end, until I'm reduced to nothing. Is then when she leaves me, once and for all, crushed at the bottom of an ashtray, next to the other cigarette butts.
25/FEB/2006
12:32 a.m.
EEDC
