Do you like the way the words I allow breath makes your skin feel while you linger inside their siren’s call? Not everyone can sin as you do now. Not everyone is blessed enough to live the rapture the words I give you. Not every sinner has such a deep need to crawl to more perverse thoughts and passions that make the modest shudder. It seems, however, that you are that kind of wanton soul. Lost beyond recognition and you like it. Its a rush you get off on. Being such a naughty person, being better than others because you can savor the very nature of the debauchery inside a wicked mind let go free. The cement that keeps your eyes rolling across the page I illuminate seek the dirty, the horrid, the filthy in one and all, that cement is in the telling.
The wonder of what I do isn’t making you feel new things, its having you share secrets. To get off knowing you’re so special you can be entertained by another’s deeds lewd and luxurious. To simmer in the stew of lust I make in a kitchen too hot for you to survive.
Wipe the drool off your chin, you’re disgusting.
I can make you stop breathing with a symphony of well chosen letters formed in perfect harmony with a depraved action. Did you like thrill rides as a child? Did you get off watching your parents undress, learning about what grew and what made it feel so good? You’re so nasty.
And I like it. I feed off your depraved mind. I grow with each orgasm you spill in honor of these well chosen letters formed in perfect harmony with a depraved action. I like making you jump when I feel like it. I like being in control of that which makes you soil yourself. I like knowing that I own your focus and until I let you go no one else in the world can make you howl the way I do.
Power. Its such a delicious word, isn’t it. But power is only as good as the way one manipulates reality for the good of the subjects who grovel for each new and twisted word. It is good to be the king.
It is much better to be your trigger.
Sleep tight… someone’s watching you.
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