be patient

how do i ask you to be patient when you refuse to discuss the intricacies and intimate details of my life? i have been told that i need to learn when to keep my mouth shut, possibly. it is like there is a loaded gun in my hand and i have been told not to fire it. on the license it said you would have to be with me until i was dead, but since you are tired of looking at my face, then i already am. don't be afraid to fall asleep under my watchful eye, watching you torment my mind. my dreamer, my seeker, come tomorrow you won't find me here, 'cause i don't care to stay with the living, you'll find me where the dead things grow. i am not like the other girls, farewell to the world, i am running out of breath, my flesh disintegrates.

my skin slips from my frame with the sweetness of a forgotten lovers tender caress, falling away in folds. my lips peel back, baring a snaggle toothed grin, my mind reels from so many wheels turning in my own decay. bitter almond fumes escape from this hole now gaping on my de-fleshed face, the curling smoke unfurls like so many words escaping from a page. i can suffer with the best of them. these are the words never spoken, these are the stories never told, this is the love that would never save me. struggling now, reaching for the medicine jar, pain tears what remains of my compassion.

ecstasy overwhelms me, treasuring the love that others despise, while my frame encircles itself my skin lays about my feet. the wind begins to wail that familiar echo, liar, liar, liar, liar, liar, liar, liar, liar, liar, liar, liar, liar, liar. are you suffering? are you suffering? are you suffering? you want my suffering, you want to see my pain, you will never be the same again. i told myself i want to take your blood and burn it in the ground, so that you would never be able to leave. my bones are becoming so brittle, breaking all around, i am unaware of your fingers digging my grave, sounds of scratching grab my attention. sprawling on the ground you claw at the sun baked earth, frenzied now, your efforts create a sand storm swirling, clinging to my blood pumping carcass.

a rasping voice struggles to escape from what remains, you've already waited too long, and all my hope is gone, i love you escapes in a wordless, hoarse gasp. unable to be audible, no lips are left to form words, so it must've been vapours released into your stagnant air. i try to run away, but i ain't got no feet. esanguanation has left me weak, it is hard to use the axe when you have no hands. a wash of innocence, this isn't personal, we're all dancing to the same sad song. malice with forethought, i feel cold without my skin. this is easy, this is easier. i can heal myself, where should i begin, i try to climb from the hole you put me in. this should be a lot easier for me, this will never get easy for me.

copyright, 2010, terri l. gillentine, all rights reserved

new dress

i'm waiting for that dress in the window to be marked down,

it fits me just perfectly.

i have no money to buy it, what should i do?

i know, recheck my contact list, there has

to be someone that still has even a smigdeon

of feeling left for me.

i have no conscience, what's it to me,

as long as i get what i desire,

i care not if i bring out their ire.

maybe if i had a conscience,

maybe if i was born with a soul,

maybe i could cry.

once a whore always a whore.

no matter, in my collapse, i can create a disguise.

should you have went to the psyche ward,

they would have kept your manipulative ass.

there is no cure for lack of feeling,

there is no manner of pills that will cure your ills.

you know nothing of love,

the girl who views people through

predatory eyes,

only sees others as prey.

you have no integrity.

you have no true grit.

if the eyes are the windows into the

soul, yours are busted out,

you have no soul.

i dedicate this to a monster who stalks among us, be careful out there.

copyright, 2010, terri l. gillentine, all rights reserved

panopticism

"our society is one not of spectacle, but of surveillance; under the surface of images, one invests bodies in depth; behind the great abstraction of exchange; there continues the meticulous, concrete training of useful forces; the circuits of communication are the supports of an accumulation and a centralization of knowledge; the play of signs defines the anchorages of power; it is not that the beautiful totality of the individual is amputated, repressed, altered by our social order, it is rather that the individual is carefully fabricated in it, according to a whole technique of forces and bodies. we are much less greeks than we believe. we are neither in the amphitheatre, nor     on the stage, but in the panoptic machine, invested by its effects of power, which we bring to ourselves since we are part of its mechanism."  discipline & punish, the birth of the prison, michel foucault

kitty collar

my neck was outstretched to accept the constriction you offered, instead of placing the collar around my neck, you placed your heavy black boot on the back of my throat, causing me to writhe under the weight of this restriction. your eyes closed, ever so slightly, causing wrinkled creases to form at the corners, as your orbs tried to pierce my being. impervious to your glare, i squirmed and wriggled in a veiled attempt to free myself from your confinement, the pressure increasing ever so slightly with each passing moment, until my breath was raspy and caught on your boot lace. threading my desire so completely, i have become interlaced and complicit in your desire for my surrender. my will has become your desire, i am your supplicant, do with me as you wish, as if you need this permission. control and domination is your answer and i am the question.
your senses are attuned to my yielding flesh, at the very moment of my surrender, your boot raises in triumph over my awaiting flesh. i raise myself from being fully prostrated at your feet to a kneeling position, just within reach of your gloved hand. my efforts are met with a hard strike to my left cheek, i present you with my other cheek, you strike this side with even more strength and controlled contempt, my eyes leak salty liquid. the stinging flesh rises to meet the onslaught of your aggression, my skin reddens from the heat of your disgust for my greedy flesh. you know the depth of my depravity and take advantage of my need. take away any defense  i have left to deny you my desire, you will not be goaded by my hunger. my head bows willingly, at last, you place your collar around my obedient neck, i surrender to your control. make it tight, make it tight, tight. make it bite, make it bite, bite. i've got your secret, i'm sure i'm gonna keep it.
you leave me kneeling, head bowed, waiting, yearning, with fear given every chance to blossom. under your controlled stare i try to steady my quickening heartbeat, anticipating your return, a gasp escapes my blood reddened face. the heat rising from my cheeks greets your caress, soothing my resolve, eyes dare not meet your measured gaze, though they ache for the sight of you. my attentiveness is turned toward the boots that stand straddled before me, my mouth longs for the taste of their well oiled skin. your booted foot rises from the floor, you hold it before my awaiting mouth, not yet, you make the agony that much more exquisite, knowing my need will become more pronounced with every inhalation. you know this by the parting of my lips and the sight of my tongue being restrained behind my jagged teeth, my trained desire does not escape you. your raised boot is maneuvered behind my back and skillfully placed between my shoulder blades, where you apply the needed pressure that causes me to fall face forward onto your remaining boot. i inhale the rich aroma of the leather and with apprehension begin to lick the toe of my master's boot, the aroma intoxicates me, the taste, indulges me. i am yours.
copyright, 2010, terri l. gillentine, all rights reserved

dream

i dreamt of a dream, my seeker, my flesh eater, my one eye was open and looking at you watching me. your eyes had the gleam of the moon casting shadows on our remains, you blinked back the darkness, only light remained, but it wasn't enough for you to watch me make my escape. my emaciated corpse slithered in the silence of your decay toward a tiny pin prick of fresh air entering your morgue. the smell of your ruin hung in the acrid air, festering, creeping into the very marrow of your being. you were always immune to the stench of your rotting flesh, must have been used to the aroma of putrification, it clings to your skin. as i wriggle free from the memory of you, my skin begins to regain elasticity, color starts to slowly replace the dull gray of my stupor. my heart beats once again, slowly at first, but quickening with each audible gasp escaping my parched lips, lungs expand, contract, inhale, exhale. my desire is stronger than your bitter almond poison, sweet smelling, but deadly to ingest, i wretch bile, black and green prism bioluminescent emptiness creates unbearable cramping. still, i wretch your vitriolic tirade. it matters not to me whether you escape your own imprisonment alive or dead. avoid the eye of contact. the skin receiver awaits your flesh, you're running out of reason, the stampede crushes you.

everything trapped in your insanity regains reason and rushes toward this pin prick of fresh air, safety from you awaits on the other side of your deception. ah, the sweetness rising in waves, carries me onward, farther and farther away from your corrupt flesh filled madness. you are still in your remembrance, you are silent in your predatory gaze, contempt stretches so easily across your full lips as you disappear from my memory. images crack and groan under the pressure of nothingness i feel for you, my heart erupts every scintilla of affection ever felt, ever experienced, ever anticipated, and your voice is carried away as a wail of sorrow. mournful rapping is tapping, tapping, tapping out morse code, but i am no longer your code breaker, your s.o.s. means nothing, my innocence is not for sale or trade. shut up. shut up. shut up. shut up.

no one is cumming for you and you surely are not cumming for anyone, but your own self service. dry humped bed sheets lay crumpled at your feet, tangled up in your obsession, a hair brush hangs limp from your crippled hand. a twitch from your middle finger causes tremors to terrorize your paralyzed flesh, the brush falls from your grasping fingers with a thud, dull and sullen, same as you. you don't know what it is like to be me. don't come near me, don't crawl after me, don't. i feel cold inside my skin, but i survived this hell i'm in, it seems easy, it seems easier. this is easy for me. my fingertips touch my own flesh, warm, alive again, pleasure pulses through my veins, the poison of your life expelled, i breathe with ease. controlled alternating deletion erases the memory of you, every blink eradicates your image, every stroke quickens my step further from you. my dreamer, my seeker, my flesh eater, you are a barbarian, you are a harbinger of doom, you are dried pulp crushed under your own torment. your crushed remains are blown away on an evil wind toward the dead sea.

your silence is music to my tone deaf ears.

copyright, 2010, terri l. gillentine, all rights reserved

darkling inspired: kitty collar

darkling inspired: kitty collar

android lust

everytime i see your face, so this is it how it is now, i will never, ever be free, you haunt me in my every moment. i hear your name and i think of this club i used to work in, android lust, this club was the ultimate in pleasure and pain. i had been hired based on my experience of being a submissive, had been in training for four years, prior to my hire date. even with my extensive knowledge base, permanent hires were required to have personalized professional training, and was i looking forward to it.  thus began my indoctrination of becoming a pro-bott, the name given to all initiates. let me just say, "i got my education."

shall we begin, yes, let's begin.