Friday, December 16, 2011

Motorcycle Ride

The wheels roll underneath me,
Engine rumbles, landscape flies,
The road opens out before us,
Clouds dot gray winter skies.

Wind roars through my helmet,
Deafening all sound outside my head.
I hear my soul singing through,
Past tears I once had shed.

Feel the hurt of old wounds,
Then the rush of your body, hard,
Pressed up against my open soul,
Soothing all which had been scarred.

In chaos I hear nothing,
But the whispers of last night,
Your heavy breath of lustful passion,
Sends my heart in blissful flight.

I squeeze you ever tighter,
You pull the throttle closer still,
My life abandoned to you,
My essence at your will.

The rush of air envelopes me,
And washes out my sighs,
From memories of love we made,
Still wet between my thighs.

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Tuesday, December 13, 2011

Another Nightmare

I dreamed of my mother last night. She had me in her grasp, and the look on her face was so sinister. Filled with terror, I was limp, unable to move or fight, as she held 5 long hat pins against my left cheek, ready to plunge them into me.

"I love the way this feels," she spewed, with a chilling smile.

I knew what she meant. The authority, the control, the ability to cause harm satisfied her need to be powerful.

Somehow, my arms came back to life again. I knocked all of the pins from her hands but one. I took the remaining pin from her, and shoved it into her face, to protect myself. I wanted to get her off of me, to run, to get away. As I pulled it from her, her smile widened.

"You're just like me. You enjoyed that. You're filled with my venom."

To be like her is my greatest fear. I want something so different for my life, yet cannot find a way to be rid of the fear, the hate, and the anger. When crossed, I become hateful and obsessively plot revenge. It eats away at me. When I don't follow through with the acts my conscience is eased over time, but holding my anger back is painful. If I follow through, I hate myself instead.

I want to be free.

As I stood before her, with her blood on my hands, I became sick inside. Waking, I sat up in bed, feeling the vomit rising in my throat, and began to cry.

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About Sash

People call me "Sash" because I'm a former beauty queen in my old home town. My father used to ride in an MC which got me interested in the culture. After my last divorce I said "goodbye" to Susie Homemaker and became the naughty, biker chick I always felt inside. (Read more...)