Ghost Girl


I have tripped and spiraled into a gap of time where I am non-existent. I can see and interact with the environment around me, but it all seems to lack significance. Ghostly as I am, I attempt to creep into the realm of mortal beings.

23223161_1659998034052310_1055060205_o
“Ghost Girl” ~ Art by @amytheoracle

It simply can’t be—that I only exist in the presence of you.


 

Advertisements

Patience.

“Do you love me?”

I catch myself asking myself that everyday and each time I have the same response.

“I know you do,” I whisper to myself.

Then why are you so sad, I thought.

I don’t know why, but no matter how many times you say you love me I have a fearful hunch that you’re just sparing me those words to save me.

Yes, save me.

Save me from what you might question.

Well my sweet, I can start off by saying you save me from the endless amount of tears I would shed if I knew you laid your eyes on someone else, you save me from the broken heart that I would be forced to wear if you ever told me you’ve fallen out of love with me, and you save me from the emptiness that I would bear if you ever left me and never came back. You save me from so much darling.

If I’m honest the reason why I’m sad is because you (it used to be me too) tend to create chaotic situations for us when all I’m trying to do is love you right. We all make mistakes, I get that, but I’m dying here. People make mistakes so that we can learn from them. Its one of our many mechanisms. But people don’t make mistakes just to keep continuing a negative pattern.

Do they?

Regardless, I’m still dying.

I’m dying and all you can do is act like everything is okay and play your video games because you know sooner or later we’ll both calm down and we’ll both continue loving each other regardless of our angst. You’ll speak of sweet nothings, you’ll feed me the idea that I have nothing to worry about and then we’ll end up having sex and the next day we’ll continue like this storm never happened.

I’m dying because I love you so fucking much and I’ve become too sensitive to handle all my karma, all my adult issues and insecurities and the fact that our relationship is a little rocky at the moment. I know in a way my karmic cycle is being shifted and I deserve this internally painful growth but I do know I also deserve love and the joy and happiness that comes along with it.

Patience…

A Short Story for the Ones Who Suck at Falling in Love

I was terrible at falling in love. Even when I pretended to be perfect at it, deep down inside I always knew I wasn’t cut out for it. I think I truly started to realize this or come to this conclusion when I noticed patterns in my love life falling to facade. I feel like I was always cut short or deprived of the full ride or journey of falling in love. I was always considered “not good enough” or given the excuses “it’s not you, it’s me” or the famous “I’m going through a lot right now in my life and I need to focus on myself at the moment”. 

Maybe it wasn’t me. Maybe it was the fact that that person had a lot going on in their life and they truly couldn’t handle the stress and responsibilities of being in a relationship. Either way I always put my heart and soul in it 100%. Frankly, it didn’t matter who I was dating at the moment. 

You see when I dated someone I fell in love quick and hard. Outside appearances and materialistic items didn’t matter to me. So my infamous love life couldn’t have been caused by the fact that the people I’ve dated thought I wasn’t serious enough, wasn’t attracted to them or thought that they didn’t offer me what I needed. It had to be something else. Curse that demonlord. Always giving me the short end of the stick. 

I couldn’t be the only one who felt like this. Suddenly Boxcar Racer started echoing through my head. Pretend it’s all okay, that there’s someone out there who feels just like me…. there is.

“Demonlord is that you?” I jokingly panicked. Nope, just my mind using its internal defense mechanism to ease my thoughts and worries.

“Blasphemy,” I whispered to myself under my breath. 

Of course there were others who felt my pain and believed they were cursed with the same rotten luck as me. Knowing that always comforted me; to a certain extent that is. Either way something’s got to give. 

There’s a light at the end of the tunnel

A few nights ago I tried explaining to someone my internal, spiraling dilemma. It’s something I’m sure lots of people go through, but I for one, like many, haven’t conquered that ground yet. There’s many reasons for topics like these to not be broughten up. It’s extremly awkward and sometimes the advice that is needed or given or the reactions that are projected or needed can’t necessarily help. Sometimes it even makes things worse. It’s nobody’s fault. It’s just the way life is, right? 

Maybe…

If so, then I might just go ahead and wave a white flag and surrender.

Because I can’t help myself. 

. . .

To tell you the truth,

I am afraid.

I am afraid that I will never get to enjoy my current happiness.  

I am fucking afraid by the idea that I will never get to sit down with someone and express these fears. 

I am fucking afraid that I will never get to cry to someone, and I mean literally pour my heart out to someone about how scared I am that I can’t be happy… that I won’t let myself be happy.

I just want to tell someone. 

I want to explain to them the pain I internally feel, the ache and choking in my throat as I hold back my tears and my loud cries and weeps.

I want to explain to them the screaming and arguing that takes places within my head because I’m constantly fighting with myself about how I can’t just ease up, let loose, smile and enjoy my life.

I just want to be reassured that I’ll be okay.

I want to be held and told that it’s all in my head and sooner or later those worries, the constant heavy feeling that I don’t deserve to be happy will fade away. 
Please tell me there’s a light at the end of the tunnel…

A short story about one of the reasons why I suck…

I guess one out of the of the many reasons why I suck is I’ve always been the type to hopelessly fall in love. Whether that person is fond of me or not, its all a figment of my imagination or play on my desires. I’m fucking crazy. I fall in love so quickly. I mean it truly does suck. 

Imagine me just minding my own business walking on a sunny day and out of nowhere I see this human being that just radiates and highlights the engaged area around them. 

Then it happens. 

They smile and I fall in love. 

How can something so simple like walking out on a summer day and noticing my surroundings around me land me in a pool of feelings and a lust for love?

Maybe its the fact that my sun sign’s ruling planet is Venus. The planet of love and pleasures. As a Libran and a person who’s particularly interested in astrology, I can’t only excuse my passion for love and romance through the characteristics of a god of a ruling planet, but its definitely a factor intertwined with many others that support that aspect of me. 

Maybe I’m not crazy or maybe it’s not the consequences of being a Libra and I just enjoy the idea, the process and the enactment of falling in love. 

Either way I suck.

Memoirs of a Lustful Girl (Pt. 1)

     15803383_351956158520149_2691839786053795840_n

     It’s the middle of January and I have never felt so helplessly alone. This evening is calm and uneventful, yet he’s the only one creeping into the depths of my mind, like a black cat strolling through the shadows in the alleyways at night. The aches of my loneliness echo throughout my mind and body, craving for his attention. I can’t help the yearning sensation of my feminine blooming flower as I sit and gently touch myself. Vulnerable, I lay in bed, day dreaming about the day he’ll be home to please me repeatedly. If I recall correctly, I get lost in the ecstasy of the slightest touch that involves his warm fingertips and the heavy hands that groped and caressed me every night. How could it be that only his touch and presence alone can arouse me without all the exaggerated sexual pleasures? He had me wrapped around his finger and knew he could have me on all fours if he simply demanded.

     I guess that’s what keeps me waiting in anticipation. The fact that this human being has so much power and control over my physical body and mind, really overwhelms me. The way he would raise my exhausted body up and down, in sync with his when I could no longer perform and ride him continuously, orgasm after orgasm, proved to me how complete we were when intoxicated by each other. He always carried me and wanted more. So strangely attractive that was (still is) for him to keep wanting me when I can last no longer. For him to crave my restless body and still find it just as enticing as it was when I was prepared, horny and thirsty for his sweet, pure white, almost transparent bodily fluid.

     I kept tossing to each side of my bed as I squirmed around with my hands between my legs, applying pressure from my thighs to contain the throbbing of my pussy lips and clitoris. I breathe in and hold my breath to calm my body down so I can relax my muscles and nerves. Breathing out, my mind wanders and I start to think about how the last letter I received from him described the way he built up the courage to behave so seductively. In the letter he explains how he couldn’t contain himself and how he just had to break the rules of our visitation at the facility that he currently resides in. I can’t help but to tune into my reminiscent thought so profoundly that I can almost feel when his hand grazed my soft, perky breasts and pinched at my nipples over the laced, underwire bra I had purposely worn that day. I can feel his eyes as they undressed me as we spoke to each other and I can feel when his thoughts and mind were fucking my brains out as he sat across the small table that divided us. I recall as the visit ended and before I left, he gave me a romantic hug and copped a feel, firmly cupping my pussy from behind. As he released me from his grasp he slid his hand, slightly splitting my lips over my skin tight, black jeans and ran it all the way up my ass, making sure to put pressure on my asshole and cheeks. He gave me a little spanking and he made sure he let it be known that everything he just touched was his and his only. I can’t help but to think about how detailed he gets in his letters, that perversely I start getting wet at the reminiscent thought of reading it. I get a little more soaked at the thought of even reading it again. How easy it was for me to produce such sticky, sweet extract at the mere thought of him.

     I looked frantically to the right of my bed where my medium-sized, fold-able tray or in other words my makeshift end table was located. In pure bliss, I gazed upon the neat stack of envelopes that occupied about one-fourth of the surface of my “nightstand”. About 1 foot away from where I rest my head was the stack of envelopes that carried me and satisfied all my sexual urges over the past few months. Those letters contained some of our most memorable kinky, spontaneous sex adventures and stories. It was one of the many vaults that contained our dirty, little secrets and we had access to these sexual delights not only in our minds and in pictures, but also in writing. Which in my opinion was so dramatically arousing, due to the affectionate effort to illustrate what we want to do to and for each other, but with words. It was the only way I could get off and genuinely pleasure myself when I was alone. Just like how I am tonight.

     Inside my head I was contemplating when would be the appropriate time to unleash all this eagerness towards my inappropriate desires and fantasies. It was the middle of the night and I couldn’t think straight. My conscience kept tugging towards the corner of my mind where nothing but surrendering impurities dwelled. The corner of my mind that housed the kinkiest, most sensual pleasures that you were so accustomed to hearing or seeing on the internet. The difference between this tantric experience and what is provided to you on the web is its tantalizing, surreal sexual bliss. The closeness and delectation were incomparable to the charlatans on your computer screens. This type of sexual fixation was growing and growing and it was soon to become untamable.

     I just couldn’t get it out of my head. Like a fiend I was experiencing withdrawals from my guilty pleasures. I haven’t had a good dicking in a while—I perversely said out loud to myself. I let out a deep sigh of frustration. I turned over onto my stomach and stretched outwardly, kneading my pillows like a kitty preparing for a nap. I lifted my lower back and pointed my ass towards the ceiling, facing the mirror in the opposite direction of my bed. I looked back, only to catch a glimpse of my white, light green trimmed, cherry panties hugging the curves of my soft cheeks in my reflection. Mmmm—I moaned a little to myself. He loved these cherry panties. He always used to dominate me into this position and tie me up just to admire the intimates that clanged onto my body so perfectly. A delectable treat it was for him to undress my feminine physique with his teeth and get right to the juice of my peach.

     So alluring, I can hear his voice in the back of my mind. I can feel the warmth of the breath that fell off his lips onto my skin and I can feel the urge that he has to take complete control over me radiating off his aura. In an instant I had traveled back to the time where I was a slave for him. A perfect, good little girl that submitted to every command.

     “Get on your knees… I said get on your knees,” he purred in my ear. “You’ve been such a good little girl. I think its about time I give you exactly what good girls like you get when they behave.”

     I was caught by the warmth of his breath on my ear, the intensity in his eyes and the way he pressed my body against his. Without a circle to cast, he put me under his spell. I did as I was told and didn’t fight or debate a word.

     “Oh..uh..yes sir,” I nervously said as I stumbled on my words. I slowly lowered my body, lightly grasping onto his shoulders. As I deescalated, I desperately ran my hands down his defined chest and along the sides of his perfectly carved out ribs and hips. My bony knees quivered as they kissed and imprinted onto the brown, memory filled carpet.

     Admiring me from above, he slyly smiled as he paced around me checking out every angle I had to offer. “Such a good girl, I swear…” he praised. With two of his fingers, he swept the hair that was hiding my dark-chocolate, brown eyes and half of my face to the side. When he did that it drove me crazy.

     “Oh my god and those eyes….don’t hide those sweet, innocent eyes from me, doll.” He religiously and infatuatedly implored. I shyly smiled and started to nervously fidget with my fingers. “Are we nervous darling?” He knowingly teased, aware of the abrupt energy shift in the room and my sudden uneasiness. My body language gave it all away about how anxious I was to find out what exactly he wanted to do to me. He could read and see right through me so easily. It was terribly intimidating.

     I curiously lifted my head up a tad bit and peered up at what seemed to be a devilish yet charming smirk that laid upon his androgynous face. “Why are you looking at me like that?” I boldly asked. I wasn’t quite sure that I was prepared for the answer he was going to give me, that almost instantly after I asked him I looked down. Buried behind my thin, at the time raven black hair, I noticed my lip starting to quiver. In hopes that I won’t bleed, I started nibbling on it to keep it still.

     He started to laugh a little to himself. He took a deep breath and reached out with his right hand and lifted my chin up towards him. He gazed into my eyes and sternly replied,”Oh sweetie, you’re going to be getting a mouth full.”

     We continued to lock eyes in complete silence. This went on for about a couple of more seconds and before I could even react he walked off and went to the opposite side of the room. My eyes followed his every move. He was looking for something that seemed to reside on his black bookshelf. I was curious as to what that could possibly be. Could it be possible that he was going to torture me with a horrid object? Maybe something very strangely pleasing? My mind was running wild with all the possibilities. I was afraid but intrigued. I took a deep breath to brace myself for the fear of what the following events might be.  Torture me…with nothing but sexual favors…I hope…—I anxiously mumbled to myself. After a minute or so, I heard him let out a sigh of satisfaction.

     “Here they are!” He keenly said. When he turned around and faced me, he was carrying  black, soft, fuzzy handcuffs. The type you see in kinky porn videos and sex shops. My mouth dropped a little in shock. I was instantly overwhelmed because I have never been handcuffed in any way. I was a good girl so I had no reason to be restrained against my own will, especially not in handcuffs for that matter. He flashed me this devilish look. His intentions were immediately displayed without him even having to say a word. His body language and his eyes were all I needed to see to understand that I was going to become his submissive; whether I had a say in it or not.

     He slowly but surely made his way over to me and started to caress my face. Trailing his index finger around my lips, he passively asks me, “How badly do you want to satisfy me, Amy?” He was already staring carelessly into into my eyes, so I couldn’t hide and look away. Inside my body was already yearning to please him. I think I was more or so intimidated about how I would exactly express that to him. I was a timid girl and expressing my naughty and probably very inappropriate desires out loud would probably sound extremely foreign. Especially coming out of a innocent girl’s mouth like mine. I wasn’t used to these type of questions. Almost as if I was like a virgin to this whole situation and he was stimulating my mind waiting for the perfect moment to penetrate it with his lustful actions, ultimately popping my cherry. Ironic, I know.

     He flashed me his iconic smile and started to slightly project signs that he was growing a little impatient. He was eager and willing. You could read it in his body language as he stood in front of me. “Well are you just going to sit there or are you going to answer me sweetheart?” He questioned.

     I continued to internally panic. I was so unprepared and coy that I was literally drawing a blank. I couldn’t put any words together to express to him exactly what he was doing to me nor was I able to gather any words to express what I could be doing  to him. I began to overthink to myself. Would I be punished if I didn’t respond in the correct way. How dominant was he planning to get with me? Should I be afraid or aroused? 

    “Okay maybe I’m overthinking it,” I unknowingly mumbled, out loud to myself.

     “What was that sweetie?” He curiously asked.

     And in that instant I was suddenly enlightened by my arousal that I threw all caution to the wind and began to behave in a manner that wasn’t familiar to me at all. I leaned forward and grabbed for his waist band that was provided to him by his slim, well fit jeans. He was already bulging out of them projecting to me that he has been waiting for me to relieve him of his sexual frustration. Whether I was going to be a good girl or not was determined by how my body would react to him. If he laid a finger on me in such a way there’s no telling if I would lose control. All I could do in that moment was hope that I can submit to his desires and not displease him.

TO BE CONTINUED.  .  .

It’s 3:01 AM and I can’t help but to watch you sleep

I love the way your body gently rises up and slowly settles down when you lay there vulnerable as your conscience roams your dream worlds and as your physical body sleeps. A slumber so dramatic yet peaceful. It’s insane to grasp a hold over the thought that I once was nonexistent to this bed, to that steady breathing and to that same blanket that swallows your body from your neck and below like a sea of darkness, identical to the night sky. Oh how I can swim and get lost in that sea for light years, if it meant that I would be warm, forever next to you.

So much for bad luck…

I’m climbing, on the rise of my drunkenness, and all the while these Jack Daniel,whiskey shots are complimentary to this cold evening. It keeps me warm while I try to entertain myself on bleak, repetitive Friday nights like tonight. I’m also under the influence of a beautiful plant; the most recognized herb for its highs and lows. In the reality of it all, I’m cooking in the kitchen of this warm, comfortable home where I currently reside. Thanks to my boyfriend, everything is great. Except for the part where he’s not present.

I for one, am missing the person whom I am most connected to. Him. Maybe I’m just being a cry baby but I sulk at the thought that he’s not sitting at this kitchen table waiting for me to gather my cross-faded mind and finally being able to finish preparing our meal. Probably for the fourth or fifth time. I always tend to get sidetracked when I’m feeling groovy. But besides all of that, that’s not the point.

It’s the beginning of January and I start my year off alone. Restless. I can’t seem to wrap my head around this nostalgic feeling. Perhaps I’ve felt and been through this before. Deja vu maybe? No, that can’t be it.— I soundlessly thought to myself. I couldn’t put my finger on it. As spiritual as I am I feel like this is something more simply, maddening, like a curse. It is possible that I am being a tad bit dramatic, but how is it so, that I tend to find my self in similar situations, at certain key points in the year, every year since I was a little kid and could remember.

I guess I just wasn’t accustom to being right, since I was wrong 50% of the time. I traveled back to my room as I flexed my conspiring thoughts about the patterns and synchronizations of my uneventful but at the same time very eventful life. Sometimes I get ahead of myself and it gets to be too much so I began to pour myself another shot to ease my mind.

Sitting criss crossed and intoxicated on the brown, memory filled carpet, I nuzzled the Dia de los muertos themed shot glass full of liquid gold. I took a deep breath and before I shot the liquid fire back into the pits of my throat and stomach I mumble apathetically under my breath , So much for bad luck.

Chamber of Reflection


     Is it selfish to say that I am satisfied with dating and being in a relationship with someone that is completely and almost utterly the same person as I? Or shall I say I closely reflect onto him. My twin flame that burns so passionately but never scorches me when I possess him in my arms or when he’s near. What a sight and natural phenomenon it is to watch and analyze the way that handsome human being moves and breathes. If I encountered him on any other day would he burn just as bright? Maybe brighter, maybe duller. Did I make it right on time to scream for the love I hopelessly desired and did I catch the eye of the handsome prince that Gaia romantically created for me? Oh how humble I am for the graceful presence of such a miracle. To hear such a homely, masculine, almost consuming voice that warms my cold bones instantly. If it wasn’t for the soft tissue that flawlessly came together to connect every ounce of love he had for me, through a intimate moment of a shared kiss with his lips, I would fly away. No longer would I be grounded if I wasn’t presented with that moment of ecstasy, when he gently applied onto me the pressure from that tender soulful kiss.

     Only there do I enter and soar through his physical vessel on a ship of love that takes me down a stream, past full yet shallow crystal rivers where I cross the deserts and hop from planet to planet to embrace that light he so immaculately emits. How can this being be so effortlessly perfect? On such a venture through him, I only find myself more and more each day. His woman of the sand. The woman that roams his deserts. He blesses me with every visit, on every Sunday. You know the day that most people claim is worship day. The day to worship your god or teacher. Though I have no place to worship, he is my place of worship. He is my god. He is my teacher. And I never come home empty handed. I always come home brimful and full. Overjoyed with the happiness and love that only he can resurrect. Through these fingers I create a word of bond on paper, in writing, that I will forever indulge and comprehend the genuineness  of the heart he presents to me. For I will take ownership of all sorrows and pains his heart comes across and refill it bountifully and abundantly with nothing, but the gold that resides in my bones, the light that transmits my glittery love and the magic that runs through my veins. 


2016-12-18-19-29-12-1-1


Sunday afternoons.


Today I found myself staring deeply into a pair of chocolate-colored, brown eyes. Those very brown eyes that made me melt every time they trailed my way. Keep in mind I didn’t peer absently. I was consumed—completely getting lost in that hauntingly gaze as the articulation of his words rolled off his tongue and gauged into sentences. Those eyes saved me every time mine cried out to his. They spoke of love and radiated a warmth that hugged me and consoled me from a distance. I was safe. I didn’t need anyone else’s attention and was satisfied completely, with his and his alone. He held a perception of myself that made me love who I am without even trying. All he ever had to do was look at me and almost instantaneously my haven was created.


15204185_1159650760754980_482484832_o