Agony

Vanessa became more dedicated, bold, and revealing. She continued to expose herself in erotic photos with seductive captions...her desires, demands, obsessions. I became the man who dominated her completely and fluently, through nothing more than discovering and confessing my nature. It was now her purpose to prove that my nature demanded her. It was depraved and raw. Her words trusted that I was capable of such power, and in a way I was already exercising it through deprivation. This became too heartbreaking to endure as she went to increasing lengths to demonstrate her passion. I began to see the awful precision with which she understood my darkest fantasies.

She spent one late evening in the art building taking nude photos of herself covered in blood red paint. She described how she wanted to hurt me...to expose my most terrifying insecurities. She needed to grasp the darkest recesses of my soul and squeeze, draining every drop of humiliation, pouring it into her mouth and spitting it in my face. I wanted desperately for her to do it, to offer her the condensed, terrible self that ruled my being. She scratched and clawed for it like a depraved animal, but so did I. I wanted her to know it all, but I could not know it myself without her. She understood this. She endured the weight of truth. I could not give it to her.

Poetry became my only outlet:

Prison is your body
Doused in my blood
It is not shame
It is not anger
It is not hate
But all three
Breathing within me
Agony
Restraint
You are the sickness
The only cure