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Disorganised attachment I tear off little pieces of myself in the hopes you will like them. Burn holes for you to see me through. Scoop myself apart to show you I am here. I can't be here. I am not in fact here. But I couldn't be anywhere else without you. I do it to myself, of course. How could I not? My bruises are real. I am made real where you have hurt me. My scars are real. Reminders that I have mattered to you. Even if only for a moment. It's all on the surface, but it seems surface is all there is of me. I ask after her. After them. I can't help myself. It kills me that you tell me. It would be infinitely worse if you did not. You make me dizzy. Your arm across my nec Your fist against my temple. Your cock deep inside my throat. Your sudden changes from gentle to cruel, from cruel to gentle. You tell me that I am unloveable, but that you love me nonetheless. You tell me that I am a stupid, stupid girl, but that I can still be a good girl for you. You tell me that it is pathetic that I need you, but that my neediness is charming for now. Things you use to hurt me: Your fists Your teeth A paddle A crop Cigarettes Dildos A speculum Clamps Electricity Your cock A bat Needles A knife Wax Your words Your laughter My love |
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