The Sweet Release

DISCLAIMER: This is a sensual poem and contains some sexual subject matter. 

She sends them out

like daggers dressed in distractions

(pretending to be)

–looks of interest–

but really they are




Entire lifetimes are lived

–in her head–

the seconds

she pierces you.

She can penetrate even the most

shielded of gazes,

finding just the right balance of

whatever it is she is craving

and whatever it was they were

lusting for.

She raises her arms and stretches.

Begins her scan

like she is in heat

and can smell her prey.

Lets her eyes wander around

just so

as she watches for a catcher

–while sometimes deflecting another’s dagger–

and when she inevitably catches one:

she assumes

her position.

Gently at first,

because that’s how they act like they like it.

But rough in the end because

that’s how they all really like it.

Well, the catchers, that is.

She’s a mix of both.

And that’s why she lives

in-between the world of daggers and shields and sharpened things.

At first,

she thought it was her light of need

but realized it wasn’t light

since it caused them to bleed

so deeply.

She can find a chink in their armour

from the moment they beg for surrender.

Like a tedious flap that needs lifting or perhaps a shifting

from their current reality

to a moment of seductive clarity.

Once her position is set

she caresses each blade

–licks them wet–

and starts to get

their attention

by performing

a sensual dance of vibrations

that soaks through their hardest of membranes.

She pushes each one in

–when they aren’t looking–

and forces another one in when they are looking.

She smiles every time

she stabs them,

enjoying the glutinous rhythm

of letting each one sink

further inside.

She gives them a wink

as she brings them to the brink

of ecstasy.

The purity in their eyes

just before they realize

she’s filled them full

of daggers,

reminds her

why she does it

time after time.

She has an insatiable hunger

to haunt them forever.

She knows they’ll never forget

the pain, the burning, or the turning

from hurting to pure bliss.

A poisonous kiss like hers

leaves scars

for years and years.

The reflection of her destruction

can be seen in the aftermath of

their lives as they try to disguise

their need for her.

Because once they bleed for her,

they always come back.

Their counter attack

sets the tone for the next wave

of temptation

and whether or not she allows them back in.

Rarely does she give second chances.

But in the off-chance she finally does–

the moment she prances

around them

–they’ll know–

it’s over.

She’s caught them in their glances

forever trapped inside

her prickling


Bleeding out for the rest of time

inside her head

entire lifetimes lived

by dying over and over again

as she pushes each dagger

back in.


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