Marks

Bondage phone sexI love to decorate my body, I have ink done as you can see, I have piercings, I wear make up and I wear jewelry.  Sometimes however, a body needs to go above and beyond that type of decoration.  I am referring to marks.  The deep to the skin they go, the better.  Old scars healed over by time, rough, and imperfection against perfect skin that will never fade.  It is forever lasting.  Beautiful ugly reminders of a traumatic wound. 

There are times where I love to decorate others.  You know exactly whom I mean.  I think I like to play with those who consider themselves to be “emo”.  How stupid is that? Sad little cunts that know nothing about the world yet they bitch, cry and cut instead of just having a fucking conversation about what is bothering them.  Idiots, the lot of them. 

I give them a lesson on what pain is really like, how cutting is supposed to be done.  None of this bullshit little slices and nicks.  Oh no, I want to see the purple rise to the surface when the ropes are finally taken off of their ankles, wrists and throats.  I want to see real tears wash away that dark eyeliner.  I want to see them as I press the cold steel sharp blade of a knife deep within their skin.  Then we stitch them up and play with them again another day, so when they finally are kicked out they will be decorated with the most perfect marks in the world.

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