Don’t give me anything. I beg you. Don’t open the door so I can slip in. I know the pace I need to move to make it seem like we’re standing still. When you open your eyes, you’re lost. I’ll wrap everything I whisper in poetry. It’s the honey you taste on the tip of your tongue, honey with notes of almond. Let it sit there for as long as you can because when you swallow, you are mine.
Do you really want to spend a lifetime crawling to me? Do you want your head permanently bowed? I can’t help that it brings me so much joy to see you suffer. It’s the only time love feels real. I often think life would be easier if I wasn’t this way. I wish I could be satisfied getting some head and fucking you from behind. What I need is to give you new bruises on top of old ones. I need to see your flesh react to the coarse rope fibers on your skin. I can only get hard if your facial expression is somewhere between anguish and despair. Do you want a person who thinks that way? I ask already knowing the answer. I knew it before you started reading.
This is the beginning of your destruction. The only question left unanswered is whether or not you are complicit. I wonder when you realized I had gotten too deep inside your head. Did your instincts tell you to run away? Because all you did was run towards me. You’re usually the one who has to draw the lines in your relationships. How different this must have been. If you knew then what you know now would you have slowed your pace?
You heard me say things like, “I want to destroy you,” and it made you feel all kinds of melty. But when I said it, I’m not even sure what I meant. It isn’t something I’m planning. It’s this feeling inside me. I see how beautiful you are. I see the way your hair frames your face. I see the clothes you wear. Your scent floats by my nose. I see how your nails are always painted vibrant colors. I see how even when you’re laughing, you’re still on the verge of tears. I see all of it, and I need to crush you in my palm. I need to hold you there until my fingers go numb.
Do I want you to quit your job? Do I want you to vanish from your family and friends? Do I want you to spend your days naked; chained to a wall and sleeping on a cold concrete floor? Is the answer allowed to be yes and no? Because that’s what it is. Logically, realistically, truthfully, I want nothing bad to happen to you. I want to make no demands or rules that hurt your life. But when you see my eyes flash evil, I want you to know that I could. That is the balance I seek. This is the space where you can feel annihilation without ever being harmed. I can feel coldblooded without carrying any guilt.
This is both my warning and my promise. If you want to come in, I welcome you. Sit by my feet. Rest your head in my lap. Feel my rough hand pet your soft hair. Close your eyes. Take a deep breath. Know that in a moment it will begin. Bit by bit I am going to tear you apart until everything you are is laying in tatters all around me. This is the calm before the tornado rips through our home. I hope you can feel it in your chest. Something is coming. Maybe it’s always been coming. Maybe it’s always been here and you’re only now realizing it. This is the demarcation line. It’s a new high-water mark. I’m going to destroy you. I am going to ruin you. It’s this impulse I can’t shake. Wanting you isn’t enough. Are you willing to show me your suffering? Will you feed it to me like dangling grapes over my mouth? When you run out just reach inside yourself and pull out more. Keep feeding me until I grow fat and my feet have gout.
Let go a little or let go a lot. Be complicit or be an innocent bystander. Drop to your knees or be forced. Your destruction feels so fucking good, doesn’t it? Let it wash over you. Let it click in your ear like a metronome. This beat- this rhythm has all been my design. It’s a song on repeat. Don’t give me anything. I beg you. Don’t open the door so I can slip in. I know the pace I need to move to make it seem like we’re standing still. When you open your eyes, you’re lost. I’ll wrap everything I whisper in poetry. It’s the honey you taste on the tip of your tongue, honey with notes of almond. Let it sit there for as long as you can because when you swallow, you are mine.
The Cerebral Sir 