I don't know what kind of response (if any) I'll get, so I'm posting something I wrote that was published back in 2005 (when I was 16 ) Let me know what you think? Maybe I'll post some more if you guys all don't completely hate it. TENSION ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ It's not a poem; it's not a story... It's just a remainder of a feeling of a memory... ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ Yeah, it's that thing again. Aching in my mind, I always have to answer it... They all tell me to stop. It's bad and I know it, I like it too much though. What the hell is a consequence, when it comes with something I need? She turns on the light and looks at me, I know it, she's watching me. She wants to see me do it, that thing I said I would only do once. The little sound, an everyday sound, The one you would never pick out of the crowd. It's as influential as a fly buzzing, or a leaf falling, But it's so much more than that. She's always there, leaning over to watch, Her eyes are glittering, reflecting that beautiful flame. I wave it a little, teasing, She doesn't mind it, and relaxes. Forty seconds pass, and the lighter grows hot, Hot enough to feel, hot enough to hate, I let it fall to the floor, watching as it goes out. What a strangely erotic sight. Slender fingers flip open the pack and coax it out, Long, beautiful; that one thing I want, but don't quite need. She hands it to me. Sometimes I wonder. I place it between my teeth, That unattractive salivation I can feel nagging at me, She tosses me her lighter, sexual tension in the air, It's not me she wants... it's never me. I don't mind. I don't want her either. The flame draws close, and I can see the tip grow black, Does it always do that? Have I just never noticed...? Ah, but she's waiting for me again, laughing silently. I light it, breathing in deep... I drop the useless lighter, the thing that I need but don't want. Her eyes watch me, half-lidded in restrained passion, I watch the burning paper, removing it from my mouth. I twist it and turn it in my fingers, observing each side, What a little marvel... She stands suddenly and leans over, blowing on it. Her breath is sweet against my fingers, I'm not amused - she's wasting it. She smiles coyly and plucks it from my grasp... 'What is this tension, that we always create?' 'I dunno, but it's sort of sexy.' Laughter and eyes draw back to a comfort zone, That slowly burning paper, curling patterns... 'Hey, do you think we can do this again sometime?' 'Let's do it later,' It's silent for a long time, 'It's going to be dark soon...' It's almost over now, and I feel a pang of sadness, She's smiling though; content with what she's got. I stand and lean over, taking it from her with my teeth. I suck deep, the burning heat hitting my lips, The smell striking my nose... Ah, that fabulous kick, I spit it out upon the floor, watching it spiral down. Dejected, lost - alone and used. I slip on my coat and head for the door, She follows, making sure to stamp it out. 'Where are we going again?' 'I dunno... Anywhere but here.' ''Kay' The light flicks off. The door shuts with a click. ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ Broken ashes, a mere smudge. A lonely room of one memory. That scent has long since dissipated... That tension still remains...
I was 16. It was a cigarette. I'm actually a really good girl. Never done anything worse that tobacco and alcohol... (and now it's just alcohol, occasionally)
I wrote for both female and male perspectives, straight and gay, and on relatively edgy subjects. I see though that perhaps my style of writing is unsuitable for PimD. I shan't do it again