Some days I wonder what it is all
for. Why these words plague my thoughts. Haunting me. Forcing me to cut myself and quill them onto paper
until it is saturated with
my story rich blood. Words seeping slowly, keeping with the tendency of blood
from a wound. I wonder naught what they mean, for the meaning is very
clear. I wonder why me. For my passion is a bitter mistress--A Dominatrix, coming and going
on her own whim. Her will
flows forth from her loins when stubbornness suits her and at a turn she has my willingness; playful, teasing
and taunting me nearer.
The voice that calms my panic storm whispers “Why not me?”
