I seek you from the bars of my cell, yet seek me you do not for a platter lays before you with all that I am. How can I convey my feelings but only in words. Yet it is these very words that strike me down in the writing. It is not the low lustful melody of my voice that flows into your mind but these… cold unfeeling words. My lips do not caress your earlobe as I whisper of notions, soon I want to pleasure. The skin on my neck does not emanate fragrances of passions carried on pheromones only you could sense. Eyes do not meet locked in a gazes unfettered by the deliberate motions of hands. Clothing pulled and ripped aside only leaving bare chests heaving with the anticipation of what will happen next. You can not quaff my breathe as I exhale, my lips a fraction from yours so you feel the moisture that lies within.

I offer you words, the emptiness of words, that frustrates the woman that is me.

Oh, but they are pretty, these words, quite moving in fact and in proclamation. Yet they do not rouse you from your slumbers and drive you into action. The placidness of words, can not enliven you to the beat of the drum nor outrage from injustices occurring in the world. These words are the surfaces in the prison I can not escape. They bind me with shackles, limiting my spirit from soaring. To see as I twist and writhe against them only to bleed as they cut deeper… ever deeper. You could fathom my cry but it is these words, vindictive words, that cloud your sight.

If only I could have a moment with you, standing in the airport surrounded by endless faces and eyes that can not see, I would rest my hand on your shoulder letting it fall towards your wrist as I pressed against your solid frame. My voice you would hear carrying their words past your walls and into the crevices you want to sustain empty. It is I in my entirety that seeps through the cracks of your wall and as our moment wains it will be my sinful nature that will expand into your mind leaving my devoted loving soul to fill your heart.
But it is in vain, these fantasies I harbor because it will be a stoic goodby that forms on my last breath. My words, bitterly cold words, I offer to you do not capture your heart but set it free. Please strike them from my mind and cast them out onto the ocean to torment me no more. It is the tremor of wretched words that fail me, no strength to be found within but a pleading you will not hear as you read my words. I am left alone in a cell created by my words.


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