tigersaint

the twenty-fourth night:

i close my heart back up in the same trusted, well-worn box but this time with a few new locks.

everytime a piece of me falls away i look forward to the new scar. at this point i am made up of scars almost entirely, new skin like the seams for old skin, a rag doll that's been well loved and therefore...
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the twenty-third night:

i was given a bed, and even a room. the bed is soft and large, i sleep on it sideways, curled up at the foot.

there is a large mirror at the head of the bed where i have written poems along the edges in black marker. then i took off my shirt and wrote the same poems on myself, lonely and...
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the twenty-second night:

listen, i am tired and cold. i am bleeding, my muscles ache. i am going to curl up alone on the floor tonight, the headphones cupping my ears like the hands of a lover in a soft kiss.

there is so much more to tell you, of arguments and tearing pages out of books, of secret notes slipped to strangers and logic...
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the twenty-first night:

i am a poor, broke, humble girl but tonight i was pampered in every way imaginable.

i am no starfucker, and certainly i am rarely impressed by material things. but let no one tell you differently:

it is a special aphrodisiac to dine with one who is rich and powerful. the kind of man who has the entire restaurant at its knees....
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the twentieth night:

330am, alone.

there is a storm outside, hitting the window like impatient fingers drumming on a glass tabletop.

i don't have a bed here, i have been sleeping alone on the floor. i have only a pillow, the old blanket that i keep in my backpack when i am travelling and a few pieces of clothing. i am in my pjammas, a...
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the nineteenth night:

he's been taking photographs of my face while he fucks me. he holds the camera at angles and the flash goes off blinding me momentarily, making me dizzy. sometimes he misses me entirely, our rhythm throwing my face out of frame, but in many you can see everything, my face, the sweat, his cum, bite marks on my cheeks and throat. in...
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the eighteenth night:

"Give me chastity and continence, but not yet.

Saint Augustine
--Confessions"

i have written this in my best red paint across my chest. i undress, lay down on his bed and wait for him to come home.

i keep my eyes closed as i hear him approach me, and i smile when i hear his laughter at reading my chest.

he kisses...
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the seventeenth night:

i am having a dream.

in the dream, i am laying on a bed. the blankets on the bed are dirty with cum and blood and spit. they are dark, soft, thin, flimsy. the pillows have been thrown to the floor and the shades are drawn.

the walls are very high and they too are dark, a dark brown-red, like dried menstrual...
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the sixteenth night:

he sits at his writing desk with a glass of scotch and a fever in his head. he is writing the pages furiously while i sit next to him on the floor, a saucer next to me. he has filled it with my favorite whiskey.

every so often he absent-mindedly strokes my hair or slides his finger into my mouth to play...
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the fifteenth night:

tonight i am sore. i have bruises on my wrists, ankles, hips and inner thighs.

my knees are burned and my throat is raw from begging, screaming and moaning his name.

tonight, he bathes me in a tub of hot water, with a soft wash cloth and my favorite almond scented soap. he scratches head and lathers my hair until i am...
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the fourteenth night:

when we meet he immediately undresses me and sets me on all fours. he circles my neck with a collar and attaches a leash. he walks me around his apt like that, he pulls the leash tight to lead me. he tells me he wants me to only approach him on my knees when i am there. he sets a saucer of...
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the thirteenth night:

i did a bad thing: i stole a piece of his clothing. his boxers.

i stole a pair from his laundry so that they smelled like him.

when i got home i pulled them from my bag shyly. first i pressed the thin cotton to my cheek. i slid my hands inside, i looked to see how thin and soft they were...
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