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She's in her element. Her body emits quiet warmth that envelopes you the way a warm spring does. When she's here she reminds me of night time. She is calm, collected; seemingly lethargic. Her eyes are nearly always half open with the partial sleep glue of insomnia. Her words are well paced and thought out. She never has a spike in tone or emotion. She is a perfect calm. Her breath comes soft paced, she radiates with fluid sedation. Her presence is influential; to be around her is to give into her unbearably undeniable safety.
I hate the way the city scent grafts to her skin. She smells like everyone she came into contact with, the scent of average humans and their filth. The scent finds its way to being a bitter taste of metal Iron. Just like the taste of blood. When she is full of energy, I feel combustible, incalculable, unquenchable natures within her. There is no peace, no quiet, no safe soft moment in this version of her. It takes everything in me not to pounce on her as she
Give upClutching the wet pillow to my face,
nails digging in to the soft damp fabric,
body so frozen it's hard to move
without a push.
It's so simple why I'd push you all away;
I am not meant to love.
I shove back, knowing it has no use
This body is useless, fragile.
Give me one thing you think you know
about who I am or what I've done or
Can you force yourself to try,
knowing your answer most definately is wrong?
Tell me it's wrong to protect you from me
That you don't mind the clawing, kicking
and screaming at night when my mind
gets too personal, when my body burns
deep within me, far beneath the surface.
Give up, I am a demon and I am
beginning to take it personally.
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