Pain marks you

November 3, 2018

Who can remember pain once it’s over? All that remains of it is a shadow, not in the mind even, in the flesh. Pain marks you, but too deep to see.

Margaret Atwood
The Handmaid’s Tale

The Smell of Blood

October 21, 2018

A constant hunger for the pornographic, sex crazed, conversationalists,

Then there’s the rubbing of your clit until it burns like stabbing hot fire and pissing, bursting, cumming for Jesus Christ and fuck sakes for nothing’s,

All the time thinking fill me,
Or,
Fucking kill me,

And bitching like a barking dog, with no Master and no loyalty and no allegiance and no brilliant, radiant, flame except her god damn appetite, which screams in her depths and says nothing of any importance, humping the fucking fire hydrant with no fucking idea,

There’s no physical without emotional, it’s all there, it’s all one,
They all want it,
They all have the same holes,
Point blank,

What’s your oldest memory?
How much pain have you inflicted on yourself?
How much pain have you inflicted on others?
Do you enjoy the smell of blood

Jade Dalton

Tonight I can write the saddest lines.

Write, for example, ‘The night is shattered
and the blue stars shiver in the distance.’

The night wind revolves in the sky and sings.

Tonight I can write the saddest lines.
I loved her, and sometimes she loved me too.

Through nights like this one I held her in my arms
I kissed her again and again under the endless sky.

She loved me sometimes, and I loved her too.
How could one not have loved her great still eyes.

Tonight I can write the saddest lines.
To think that I do not have her. To feel that I have lost her.

To hear the immense night, still more immense without her.
And the verse falls to the soul like dew to the pasture.

What does it matter that my love could not keep her.
The night is shattered and she is not with me.

This is all. In the distance someone is singing. In the distance.
My soul is not satisfied that it has lost her.

My sight searches for her as though to go to her.
My heart looks for her, and she is not with me.

The same night whitening the same trees.
We, of that time, are no longer the same.

I no longer love her, that’s certain, but how I loved her.
My voice tried to find the wind to touch her hearing.

Another’s. She will be another’s. Like my kisses before.
Her void. Her bright body. Her infinite eyes.

I no longer love her, that’s certain, but maybe I love her.
Love is so short, forgetting is so long.

Because through nights like this one I held her in my arms
my soul is not satisfied that it has lost her.

Though this be the last pain that she makes me suffer
and these the last verses that I write for her.

Pablo Neruda

ghost of an experience

September 30, 2018

nightmaresandsexyghouls - Stefan Heilmann - Boys are you brave enough to play with me

I asked the poet Tony Hoagland what he thought about fear. He said fear was the ghost of an experience: we fear the reoccurrence of a pain we once felt, and in this way fear is like a hangover. The memory of our pain is a pain unto itself, and thus feeds our fear like a foyer with mirrors on both sides. And then he quoted Auden: “And ghosts must do again / What gives them pain.”

Mary Ruefle
Madness, Rack, and Honey

rip you to pieces

September 9, 2018

The masks we wear

I’ll break you, tear you apart, rip you to pieces, use you for my pleasure, bring you to your limits, love you so rough you’ll barely be able to breathe when I’m done.

I’ll hurt you, make your heart skip a beat in excitement and fear, make you flinch in pain, shiver in lust and unbearable desire, come so many times you’ll barely be able to keep count.

Anon
Playfully Sadistic

under the skull

September 8, 2018

We all have secret lives.

The life of excretion; the world of inappropriate sexual fantasies; our real hopes, our terror of death; our experience of shame, the world of pain and our dreams.

No one else knows these lives; consciousness is solitary.

Each person lives in that bubble universe that rests under the skull, alone.

Kim Stanley Robinson
Galileo’s Dream

Accomplices

July 29, 2018

Accomplices in darkness, we were united in the taste of tears

Pain

June 3, 2018

The deeper the wound, the more private the pain.

Isabel Allende
Paula

First Memory

April 21, 2018

Long ago, I was wounded. I lived
to revenge myself
against my father, not
for what he was –
for what I was: from the beginning of time,
in childhood, I thought
that pain meant
I was not loved.
It meant I loved.

Louise Gluck

remember pain

April 7, 2018

But who can remember pain, once it’s over? All that remains of it is a shadow, not in the mind even, in the flesh. Pain marks you, but too deep to see. Out of sight, out of mind.

Margaret Atwood
The Handmaid’s Tale