Wants.

I want to be used like I’m not a person of worth. I want to see rage instead of compassion, and harsh tones instead of soft coos. I want to be slapped around, spat on, made to feel less like a human and more like a piece of trash. I want to be kicked, punched, threatened; I want to be afraid. I want to make  both of our darkest fantasies come alive, because I want to know what it’s like to suffer. I want to be left on the floor crying as you walk away. I want your hands around my throat stealing the life from me. I want to be all the different shades of blue, purple, green and yellow by the time you are done with me. I want my head pulled back with a knife at my throat as threats are whispered in my ear or as you dig your teeth into my flesh. Yet, sometimes, I have the desire to be held and to be shown what being intimate means. Because in a way, intimacy terrifies me just as much as the above does, maybe even more. Sometimes I long to just lose myself in the motion of movements that two people between (or above) the sheets share. And yes, sometimes, I do crave a passionate kiss over the feeling of flesh being torn from my bones.

Sometimes I wonder if I want too much.