The Verve ~ Bittersweet Symphony
Well I never pray
But tonight I’m on my knees yeah
I need to hear some sounds that recognize the pain in me, yeah
I let the melody shine, let it cleanse my mind, I feel free now
Occasionally I sit with my box marked ‘Limits’, shuffling through the dust hued contents.
Some things within I’m careful not to touch, they won’t ever bear re-examination, and forever in that box they shall remain.
Some things, however, catch my Magpie eye, and I pull them out, running my fingers over them, remembering each flaw in design which led them to be consigned to this mental catacomb.
Finding a remnant of a piece I
came looking for, I wonder.
What if I remove it from this box, is it still so caustic that it will burn a hole in our table?
I twist the base of my tilted kaleidescope, my eyes fixing, with aroused curiosity, on a periodic differential in the refracted light. Perspective alters the interpretation of the message received.
He saw intimacy.
“on you, or in you….your choice” he states, standing over me, cock in hand.
I saw humiliation.
Fascination, ephemeral, as the ramifications of the possibility of ‘on you’ charge round my head.
My mind is altered as chemicals, natural, captivate my intoxicated senses, my decision not made quickly enough for His liking.
He warns me of the cut off point for communication of my choice.
I challenge Him, ofcourse I do, factory settings restored to default.
Pride, stubborness and acute vulnerability all play their part.
I feel His fist curl as He forcefully grasps a handful of my hair.
Consequences, inevitable, He makes a mess of my face.
I lose Him, then, as my focus turns inward, and vampiric memories make their presence known.
The shame I feel, as I hide behind my hair which has fallen to cover
and stick to
my face, is felt so deeply
my body aches.
Time has stolen from me the finer points of that moment. I couldn’t tell you if I cried.
Neither could I tell you where He went, or for how long, or when it was I felt the bed dip as He lay his body down next to mine.
Reflection provides me with a treasure map of clues.
No Xis charted though, no singular point of reference on which to stake a claim.
Submission is far more complex than that, so many aspects of shadow and light on which to feast
The table remains intact, although the fragments still smoulder.
From that one incident, of self I have gained a deeper understanding.
Of Him, too.
His intention wasn’t to degrade.
Territory extended, ownership asserted, all that was missing was a ‘thank you, Sir.’