Posted on by Killingdanse · 2 Comments

Not a Good Day

It is no secret that I work at night. It is also no secret that I am a dark person. Today is one of the days I remember just how crazy I am. It is a panicky shaky overwhelmed sort of crazy that overflows and washes over the inside of my body. It is not the pleasant warm rain that just makes you want to stand in it and enjoy the feeling. It is a if my blood has turned to acid eating its way through my body making the blood vessels seep as it burns through them searching for something leaving tattered blistered remains behind.

The uneasiness consumes me forcing me to want to hide inside something even if it is a building as twisted as I am. I am uncomfortable in my own skin as if it is a million insects attempting to crawl off my body on its own. The acid in my veins encourages it and if I looked in the mirror I doubt that the skin on my face would remain there. It would melt away slipping down and dropping away with wet clops only to scuttle away going to hide in the black spires of the world inside my mind. My face would be left with exposed muscles and bone without expression and without a sign of the pain wracking my already too fragile body and mind.

Darkness ripples around me like a poisonous cloud forcing its way into my lungs making it feel as if I am breathing through sand. Shards of the ever present colored glass slicing through poking grotesquely through the spaces between my ribs. Scarred bits of me slip open weeping tears of blood that my eyes cannot. The misshapen mouths split from skin open wetly as if they are shrieking with a pain of their own as they choke on my blood. As I watch them gape open I expect to see eyes peeking at me through the smaller ones that rest above the widest of the splits. Staring at me accusing me through the truth of the mirror.

I don’t know what they would say. I want to but I cannot understand it through their choking gurgles as blood stumbles out of them increasing in both amount and speed. I strain my ears to understand because just maybe they have something valuable to say.

openwoundYes, Mine

 

Posted on by Killingdanse

Subtle Kind of Crazy

Some days I am reminded that I am still crazy. Not the subtle kind of crazy that most people are but the screaming kind of crazy that most people run away from or are locked up for. In a way I am locked up. I allowed myself to be put into a straight jacket a long time ago and decided what the hell straight jackets can be fun when applied correctly. Then again most things can be fun when applied correctly.

The soft whisper of canvas knowing that you can’t move even if you tried. There is something inherently lovely about that in the right circumstance. Unfortunately this is not the right circumstance.

I am tempted to take a look to glance up into that slick blackness of his eyes and taste the darkness there. Wondering if the red on his lips is from the kisses he has recently given another or from running his tongue over the open wounds that the glass has left in my skin as I clawed my away out. I don’t want to see what is in his eyes though. Whether they are the deep blue that I love or the swirling black I know is hidden there, that is reserved only for me. I can lose myself in either one only one is more frightening than the other. The swirling memorizing black fascinates and hypnotizes me to the point of compliance, complacence. The danger in them is not even a thought.

His hand moves up to brush against my skin and I realize that I don’t know if it is the soft caress of his fingertips or if the razor is just to sharp to feel at first as it cuts deep into my flesh. I don’t know because I haven’t looked into his eyes. Nor do I want to. I realize now something that I should have known all along. I want to know which it is. I don’t care if it is a lover’s caress or if I am going to feel warm liquid slide down my neck soaking my chest. I almost risk a glance down wondering if the warm that I feel around my heart is emotion or my life draining from me.

blackeyeThis one is mine – Not my eye but my picture.

Posted on by Killingdanse · 8 Comments

Has to be said

I openly welcome any comments and often retrieve some of them from spam because that is where some legit comments end up. It may take a few days but I also approve all comments except for those that are obviously spam. I found this one under spam which it probably is from someone named Carpet. Tell me what is wrong with this comment

“of course like your website however you need to take a look at the spelling on quite a few of your posts. A number of them are rife with spelling issues and I find it very troublesome to inform the truth however I�ll definitely come back again.”

Providing for abbreviation I ignored the beginning of it. Now I need to take a look at my spelling on quite a few of my posts… umm aside from the Latin which comes up spelled wrong because oh well let’s see IT ISN’T IN ENGLISH there is nothing spelled wrong. I am just neurotic enough to check. Can someone how to inform the truth? I definitely would like to speak with the Truth just because it might be fun but to inform him of something might be a bit insulting. Now I understand coming back again there are many blogs I follow spelled wrong or not but I do know the html for an ‘.

For my readers I am sorry for this rant but the teacher in me twitches when someone says I spelled something wrong. I worked very hard to learn both English spelling and grammar (no it is not my first language) and it annoys me to no end to have someone say my posts are rife with spelling errors by someone who obviously needs a lesson in grammar, html, and apparently spelling. Hey even the term schizophrenic architects is spelled right.

Sorry for the rant. Oh and if this was spam it wasn’t very good spam considering I live in America and am not about to have my carpets in England cleaned… now cleaned by an Englishman… preferably naked… umm well yeah I am not even going to continue with that thought, way too frustrated.

Posted on by Killingdanse · 2 Comments

Why do you do this to me?

The cold stings my knuckles as I quietly tap on the door knowing that you will hear it. I admonish myself yet again for not using my palm, knowing the bone on would tapping wood only cause pain. Footsteps echo in my head as I hear you approach the door and turn the handle. You know it is me, you knew I was coming the polite call that I placed first is always a warning.

I often wonder how you deal with the thoughts that float through the air between us. I can’t read you like I read everyone else and this is a good thing because despite the reason I am here I really don’t want to know. The door opens in a rush of warmth, you must have the heat on or maybe it is just my body reacting to the cat like grace you use to step aside to let me in. I move forward slowly, cautiously, still afraid you will spook like the wild thing that you are. Walking past you making sure that no part of you touches me because the tiniest touch will have me undone. Sitting down on the worn sofa my hand automatically reaches out to pet the feline that stretches lazily on the armrest. Touching the feline is almost as natural a gesture as it was to touch you. Soon the others are there curling around my legs asking quietly for the attention that they know instinctively that I will give them because they are as much a part of you as anything else in the room.

I watch you for a moment as you move through the house only glancing up to meet your soft brown eyes with their almost girlish lashes for a moment as you set the usual choice of beverage down next to me. Not a word is spoken, even though your voice would send a shockwave up my spine. You move to the chair that normally sits near your desk. Your eyes flitting over what covers the wall before resting on me for a brief moment and then on the television that plays an inane drama that neither of us is interested in. After a moment of indecision you move closer to me making me wonder if you know how dangerous you are to me. How addictive you are.

I am almost sure that you do. You use it well to control me without making it seem like that is what you are doing. I watch you out of the corner of my eye, my hand still moving restlessly over the cat soft fur sliding through my fingers. You speak softly telling me about the things that you do and those that you wish that you were doing. I listen more to the timber of your voice than the actual words. One of these days you will catch me listening to you rather than what you are saying, trying to understand why the voices quiet and the glass doesn’t seem as sharp when I am this close to you. I am tempted to reach out and touch you but am afraid that you will dissolve into darknesscheshire

Posted on by Killingdanse · 5 Comments

What Happens When I Can’t Handle It

I know I should be able to take it with a grain of salt but I can’t. It eats me alive when it is like this because it shows things that I don’t want to see. They have no idea what they do to me. There is no answer to this. I should have stayed in my quiet reclusive state without any contact.

This is one of those days that I have gotten nothing done and can feel the glass writhing under my skin trying to break free. The shards just cut and slice deeper and I can’t do anything to stop it and I am not sure I would if I could. Sometimes pain is better than anything else at least it lets me know that I am alive. Unfortunately I should have stayed in my quiet corner and in my quiet home deep underground with the glass surrounding me. At least I know it I know what it does and why it does it.

Tonight I am so very disappointed. But then again I should know what to expect from people by now.

options-pain-suffering-option-best-demotivational-posters

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One Free Murder

Not that any of them really are but this particular one is not for the kiddies. If you are under 18 please find something more suited towards your needs to read. Parental discretion definitely advised. If your child is reading this unattended by a parent then I cannot be held responsible. You should watch what your children read online. 

I really think that everyone should be allowed one free murder in their lifetime. Just one where they will not take you to jail or put you on trial for it. Just one per person. This brings to light all sorts of things like who would you take. Would you wait until you had good reason or do it for pleasure. Would it be someone you hate or someone you love? 

Would people set up match making services like the dating sites that are so popular? Matching those who want to kill and ones who want to be dead. Could you trade murders so if you are the one wanting to be killed can your killer have yours and therefore have two.

Could you auction that murder that you have? Sell it to the highest bidder so that they have more. Would you?

Would you take your lover? Wrapping him in silken warmth clamping around his cock. Rocking, fucking him harder and faster until he is just about to cum and then tighten your hands around his neck until he is coming and dying at the same time watching his life slip from him even as his cum splashes inside you. Would you let him do it to you?

Or would you do it with a blade. Blind folded with his wrists restrained and teased with the cold metal making small cuts as you stroke him with your hand, sliding your mouth around the tip as tiny trickle of blood seeps from the cut just above his hip, the spot that you love the most. Sliding your tongue around the head of his cock until you know pleasure and pain have become one only to take all of him into your mouth and down your throat all at once. Would you run your hands through the cuts tracing them carefully listening to all of the lovely sounds he makes. The sharp intake of breath when you touch a tender place or the soft cries torn from him as his cock reaches your throat again, pushing past it and groaning when he feels your throat tighten around the head. Would you slip the knife into his heart then? Or maybe just a tiny cut to the femoral artery, not noticeable until he gets light headed and your mouth and hands are slick with the warmth of his blood.

What would it be like to that warmth surround you the coppery taste mixing with the bitter sweet taste of his cum?

Would you do this to her? Only instead push your cock down her throat until she can’t breath. Feel it clench and try to swallow as she is slowly suffocated her struggles making your pleasure sweeter.  Would you watch her eyes go wide when she realizes that you are exercising your right to one free killing on her. Would it make you cringe or hard?

Would you do it fast or slowly taking time to prolong the pleasure because you only get just one unless it is a trade? Would you collect them like baseball cards hoarding them until the time is perfect.

It could be your worst enemy or you could take your frustrations out on your boss, ex, father, teacher, mother, that girl in the 10 items or less line with a pack of kids and a cart full of groceries.

Would it be quiet or loud? Would you want to enjoy each moment reveling in the sensations of power and control?

Killperson

Posted on by Killingdanse · 4 Comments

A Day of Unknown Origin

Since everyone I know seems to be locked into a progression of holidays it seems only appropriate that I point out the worst fact of all about this particular holiday. There are several and most do not fit with the annoyingly happy gift giving sappy cherub loving crap. The pagans and you have to love the pagans for this picked a day in the middle of February to celebrate fertility. The Romans not wanting to be out done had a woman lottery where they would essentially raffle off young women to spend a year with the participating men – most of the time this year ended in marriage (gee wonder why that is) This lottery took place only after proper sacrifices of goats, dogs, and other livestock and whipping the women with the skins…. yeah romantic.

This brings us to the Catholics, the Roman’s who sacrificed not one but several people named Valentine or Valentinus and the Catholics were set on making them martyrs. Nothing like celebrating death with love. Perhaps they did this just because it has always been frowned upon to celebrate love with death.

When asked my simple response is that I don’t celebrate holidays. Not due to religion I am Catholic which is not only a church of contradictions, riches, and holidays.

There are however a few things that they symbols of valentine’s day make me think of.

Cupid – cherubim servants of god who held the fiery sword barring the doors to Eden. Light bringer was a cherubim. He is also known by quite a few other names such as morning star and if you don’t know who that is study your lore.

Hearts – Now there’s a better image. Hearts bring to mind blood, pounds, skipping a beat, and how you could slip a small knife through the muscle between the ribs because it is only two inches to touch someone’s heart. Although this is probably not the type of touch the valentine’s day card writers mean. How slick blood is and how it changes colour as it leaves the body going from crimson to dull red.

Harlequin – Don’t ask why there is this association. For some reason valentine’s day always brings up the image of the character Harley Quin.

Aphrodisiac poisoned cupcakes and chocolates. It would be interesting to do and even more interesting to read the headlines in the newspaper or watch reporters try and describe the tragedy of hundreds literally fucking themselves to death. Oh come on you can’t say that you haven’t thought of it. If they poison Halloween candy why not…

I don't know the artist but love the picture.
I don’t know the artist but love the picture.

It just reminds me of valentine’s day.

Posted on by Killingdanse · 5 Comments

Would I feel lonely if the voices in my head stopped talking to me?

No for those who wonder I do not hear voices… well sometimes I do but I don’t believe what they tell me… ok so sometimes I believe them but never act on them… oh hell I do often act on them because most of the time they are right.

I often wonder at what point I stopped caring what others thought of me and at what point I stopped caring about what I thought of myself. It was probably the point when I realized that I am the person you don’t want to meet in a dark alley mostly because I am in that dark alley for purposes that might offend most people’s delicate sensibilities. I am the person who makes the statement “Good friends help you move, best friends help you move the bodies,” and means it.

My value lies in the pleasure I give others and only in that. I am the one who when you ask what my name is I look at you and say “what would you like it to be.”

The value I get from writing all of this down is that maybe one person will read it and think to themselves I am not alone. There is at least one other person who understands this. Yes this blog is not cheery, inspiring, or of any extrinsic value but somewhere along the line it might help someone feel. It doesn’t matter which feeling it inspires in some it will bring the creeping sense of hot breath on the back of your neck the second you realize something is standing right behind you in that second before you turn on the light.

In some it will bring the sense of belonging that only cold brick can bring as you are pushed up against the wall and fucked in an alley behind that bar that you frequent.

In some it will bring the desire to push against those little things that are commonly called limits and bend them until they break.

And in some it will simply bring understanding that pleasure and pain can exist simultaneously in a mind shattering way.

 

barbed

Posted on by Killingdanse · 3 Comments

Things That Most Definitely Suck.

Ok. Tonight I have the perfect chance to do what I want, to play how I want and quite possibly to get the dual sided affection I crave. Am I going to do it. No. Despite my desperation and absolute desire and longing I am not. All it would take is standing up getting into the shower and finding my keys (it has been a while since I have driving my truck oh fuck it there’s a spare) say screw my responsibility for ecstasy for just one night. No sex no obligation just pure unadulterated energy and something I have always wanted. I am almost tempted to stand and get dressed and go and then reality comes crashing down on me. I have lost too many friends speaking the truth what would happen if they knew how real the truth was for me. What if they knew what I am and what I want. I think they would run and I wouldn’t be able to stop screaming from the gaping hole that is just waiting to be reopened. Imagei

 

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Posted on by Killingdanse · 2 Comments

Jagged

And now they can never get the timing just right. When they join together it forms a grotesque shape, all edges too sharp and dips and valleys too soft. There no sound other that a quiet gasping, because someone has always run out of air. They are so twisted and broken that they can’t even look each other in the eyes, and yet they can’t let go (don’t want to).

So every night they twist a little farther into each other. They break their souls so that the jagged pieces cut each other, the metaphor becoming so real sometimes that they will wake up with their bodies still tangled together, now slick with blood, and their mouths tasting like copper. And it’s fucking perfect.

undead but still alive

andrea-miltnerova-fractured