| No,
they aren’t mine. I wish they were, but they aren’t. The boys belong to
their creators, and lyrics from Not an Addict belong to K's Choice.
I make no money off any of them; I just take them out, put them in pretty
dresses, and make them fight each other. No harm, no foul. Feed the writer.
Review. |
Not
an Addict |
••• |
|
/Fingernails dig into pale flesh, scrabbling for purchase./ The seething, pounding need of lust drives them on. Devils made of want riding at their tails, the crack of whips forestalling any pause. /Eyes closed to block out the sight./ These bodies aren't the ones they want, but so long as they do not see, the illusion holds. After all, the skin's the right temperature. Cool(hot) and ivory-in-the-dark. Scars, sweat and the faintest tinge of fear. What they've been missing. But the skin is the same. /Not an addict./ It doesn't matter if this isn't the real thing, they'll take what they can get. Push, press and there--open and waiting--taking is the easiest thing they've ever forced themselves to do. /If you don't have it you're on the other side/ Can't do without. Tried, failed. This will suffice. Must. /Fangs splitting through layers as blood fills the heart. Stopping not stopping go on, please go on./ /I feel alive I feel I/ And afterwards, nothing. |
••• |
Who knows
where this might go... |