[Stream of Consciousness, free write, no prompt. This is unrelated to The Saint. Erotica rated XOXO. ]

Empty playgrounds are legs with disasters. Waters lukewarm. Betrayals are those who feel your pain closer. It excites them when you burn, when they can blame. Under the covers, I brace myself for the bareness that becomes a harness.

An intention to let go, a motive to die. Fire with no flame. I want them to kill me, a figure made for mistakes. A revolving clenched fist that takes without a revolution. The execution is punishment. The purpose is silence, degradation made in white veils.

I've counted the corners in my life where expiration made sense. A true sinner, live wire. Me, the damned. Waiting to explode, a missile within blisters up to the cold luggage that rots in the sky. Stings the senses with smoke. Gas masks to breathe. Don't stand too close, whispers of warning. You'll see something you don't want to see.

I don't want to pretend anymore, I want to be seen. I want to make a mess, someone else can take my janitor's bail. My armor's shiny like a sport, I want them to penetrate past the chainmail, direct contact flesh wound. I want to laugh with blood in my gums, running down my lips. A street pariah, loud, unapologetic. Gestures due, camouflaged in culture.

Hunger lives in my bones with shrunken ribs, the bones feel like my slivers of hope. They want to break and crumble. I'll roll in the ashes. Strong like a goddess no one believes in or knows the name for it to exist.

My star sign is made of rust that will never shine. Machine objectified made, the fuse has gone all loose. It screams for me when no one else will. I can't see my shadow anymore, because I don't think I existed long enough to make the mark.

I love to listen to the world rise before the sun comes. Light abandons all hope. The stillness takes away the trauma from my eyes, but the imprints linger like invisible tattoos, films play in my head. It never stops. I would let you in, but you don't want to see. The sounds are hard and heavy on wooden planks in places where its damp enough to keep a corpse cool. Places that want to stay frozen in time.

The beauty went to sleep, where you can only dream.

Hands on the rusted barrier between me and the waves.

Right before the breath, right before the jump.

I met eyes that burned into my skull, electrocuted my senses until salt water tasted delicious. Beads lived in the holes of your mouth. You let it seesaw the open wounds with infection. You want the inflammation like a sepsis wet dream.

I named her Blu, as she cradled my head with the waves crashing against my cracked skull. Gushing over her bare skin, the warmth of her limbs, a memory that never belonged until now. Her nails like teeth dug into the beds of your lips, plush spit of iron and disease. A gaping hole where she licked you, inside of your mouth. Rituals without words.

It healed you in ways that couldn't fully be expressed. She told you the time for consumption was over as though she had known you for centuries, your lives circled each other. Worship the religion, the embodiment of her. She was dressed as a nun, but the only holy spirit that lived in her was conviction. Her cross shoved into your mouth around the tongue, eyes rolling back, you watched the blood drip from your jawline. The only stain that was left may have been the idea that suicidal ideation was fleeting. Faster into oblivion than the sucking motion of that cross.

"You'll live not because I tell you to. It's because you have no other choice."

At first, I hated her audacity. An envy that I could never master in my former life. The old version died when she named me, Luciola. She rested my head with the waves letting them seek to drown me. Die to stay here, never to leave what I left behind. Sounds of feet sprayed the sand out from their steps. I would gladly be buried alive.

Droves of nuns came with cloth tapestries rolling my body into an apparatus. Lifted. Unyielded. Women carry the wounded from the shore. For a moment, in twisted imagery I begged that the old world had died and all the men with it. As if evolution could master reproduction without them. I can still see all the eyes of the men who tried to kill me.

Inside the cloth, I searched to watch her achilles tendon arched and molted calves lead the pack away from shore. The last thing I remembered of my former life was the sounds of the Pacific Ocean.

You'll go deaf before you ever go blind. The blade lives inside the cross, its metal is part of the ritual. Not all of them are sacrificed for the church. It's rather common that they're wealthy behind red tape with connections and resources, criminal empires would swoon over. The church doesn't even know half of it. Their coffers get filled and God's blessing sounds throughout the walls and their cocks.

Blu toys with the victims la la emotions, a cat and their small rodent mouths wrinkle in her fingers. Strangers will always love you, stockholm syndrome, nuns are angels brides. You remind them of someone else, a memory undefiled.

It starts soft, a pillowy geese luxurious existence. Desires never met, faces stubbled, ingrown hairs, dark circles under the eyes tell us the story. Words are for fuckers who want to know. The eyes never lie.

Blu cuts it short, in her womb she carries them to the other side. Half of them don't realize that it's coming when it does. It's the dream, no responsibility to carry the weight. You get to leave behind life, and be reborn in a different place. Blu collects antique boxes, she tells me all the special ones live inside. When the metronome stops, she mutilates their corpse. She tells me stories of someone else's life. My naivety believes her just to hear her voice sing.

I admit, I am obsessed with her insanity. I'll let her undress me, my breasts graze her ribcage. It digs parts of my skin and leaves abrasions. She's the wolf, and I'm her sycophant. The flesh squishes beneath our feet. Digging my heels into his adam’s apple, it feels like an abandoned highway. We're the masters of its universe. I lick the parts of her skin where the blood had sprayed. I keep her unsullied where the flesh rolls. I consume her essence in my mouth. It swishes my mouth like surgery. American made. It's no longer pride. My lips press on her neck, there's a mole near her right collarbone, it's the shape of an x cut diagonal. Fingers rub down between the labia, lather of the sea's foam. It tastes like saline, a sterile hospital room. Sometimes, floral light freshwater fish with grizzled smoke. Sliced clean, the juice pulsates and it hydrates my mind. I swallow the sun, on a bed of corpses. Her legs clamp onto my head.

Fascinator, will you please crush me. My tongue has ridges, sinewy muscles punched into her vaginal introitus. In every crevice, it feels venereous as I slide between the main course, and the adamantine fruit. Crème that smolders down my throat with joyous fascination. Beads of sudation milked at my jawline, drops below our feet. Some toy ride, we glide between our orifices, the meat is smithereens, particles of someone who used to be alive.

Her lips taste of honey, I beg for its molasses thick enough to drown, and drink. She coaxes her serotonin cocktail down my veins. You watch it move with blood trapped in tubes, unhallowed. Canines graze your skin split the epidermis, stings don’t find you. Her hands wrap on the dead cock and squeezes out its meat, splash the surface, carnivorous. Under her direction, it feels profane. The poison has voices, distorted synth chimes. She loves to rub your clit as she rolls into dead particles. Circles become spirals. Soft pressure on a incline, contortion weak at the knees. Moans like tiny growls that seize control. Her deserted eyes are Vegas with neon lights, discordant to any passerby.

God forgives, when her pussy is wet.

Our victim left a smile on his face. Inside, a barbarous memory. She pulls out the antique box, her nun hood still on.

"Three more to go."

I suck her scent through my teeth. Pressing my big toe onto leftover organ meat.

I told her we would be married in the spring when the pollen was bright and my eyes would swell enough to cry. Blu prefers the fall when the world sleeps. She wants to wed in the fog where the mist consumes the rest of her body. She tells me she loves me when I kiss between her legs as she does administrative work in the church.

We keep the door locked and pretend that no one knows about us. Sisters of the same flock. Sisters for never misters. Sisters that love and never let go. Consent in a violent sea.

She tattoos love letters on my legs over the scar tissue from the suicide. Her cursive makes the damage seem less real. She tells me my thimble size clit is the size of a star when we drink tea at night. In the convent you can hear soft moans reverberate throughout the walls. They sometimes call Blu, Mother Superior. Blu is half convinced everyone here are lovers, and their kink is to defile God, for he created man.

"He humiliates us by making us secondary. It's folly. We were warriors first. We carry life. Men pretend. They get to play make believe. They get to control. My Luciola, they'll never get to control us."

I say never between kisses when our spit follows, trails that make our skin wet. Her desire is more than carnal, it's indefinite. I love to press my face against hers to feel her breath on my skin. My mind is stuck in a radiator sliced between all the fractals when she's near. I'm convinced I would die of my own accord without her. My body needs her to survive. Poetry made platinum, etched in stone.

She takes the cross and penetrates me, a feeling I can't deny. Wood grooves splinter and cut me deep. I embrace the pain, her infection, my cure. I feel the holy ghost metal rub over the Gräfenberg. Blu says volcanoes erupt when we climb. Under my lady, elated in candle light.

I snort ketamine and black out to the noise when she drives. I feel every color that passes through my eyes. Sometimes, when I am feeling silly, I nibble on her side boob. Pillows wish they felt this delighted. Her hair hides behind her nuns hood, I know when she's tense. Her jaw clenches and I imagine all the bones are stuck between her teeth. Blu smells of smoke and tangerines, her red nails glisten on the steering wheel. It glitters bright when the drugs peak, you'll melt into the leather and hope your meat squeezes out and hides your body like a cover for others to rest on.

Upper class culture calls her their salvation. They don't know better. We bite each other's bottom lips to leave marks, as if we're in a cult. It's our brand. It's displayed for onlookers, for others who can't see. My invisibility is heightened here, I am starting to like it this way. Isolation used to be ugly, now it's a fortune for the ages.

We crash into a fountain in front of a building. Airbags out. People dressed in black throw open the door and collect my body. There's suitcases of cash that cost more than what that artistry was worth. Blu unmoored by the destruction steps out with her heels, clicked on the pavement. I hear her hazy directions, the cog of my machine fades between light and darkness. Parchments of memory that flickers loud before it flutters to the shadows. My body goes limp between the fingers underneath me.

There's an altar. A chapel. Someone's on their knees.

Her soft voice sounds sweet. It's candy inside a wrapper. They aren't allowed to taste what's mine. I grip the man's hand whose holding me up. Symphonies of faces that wished they looked this pure.

Down the hatch. Down the hole. Where it's warm.

I am safe until I am not.

There's a sound of someone screaming. It's no one I know. My head turns and the people who carried me are all lying on the ground. Did the drugs make them sleep too? Screaming gets gargled. A swirled line that has no exits between the scribbles.

My head is pounding. I am naked with my hood. I pray for the day this is nowhere near my damn head. I don't ask who stripped me. I don't care to know. Blu said this was her last victim. It was all planned. She said it on the drive. Spiraled on the chemicals. Brains blemished scrambled eggs, but so badly wants to be composed. She tells me to focus on the men who tried to kill me. It jump starts rage inside of me, the on and off switch. We call it the red button. It presses at the click of a hat, boom baby.

My knees unbuckle and I lean on one of the men. He's dead. Eyes gouged. Pulled right out, pulled pork shredded. They all lay the same way. I hear Latin coming from the priests fat lips as if ancient language holds any power. Spit speckles out with each shallow breath. His face is contorted and wicked, as if he knows.

Men go blind before they ever go deaf.

The live priest is tied to the altar like a stuffed pig. Bulging fat cock on display its tortoise shell misshapen turn, as if he has fucked too much to bend it the wrong way. Face flush with red sticky blush, he's reciting scripture like poetry, it sounds like music to my ears.

"You'll be forgiven if you comply." She flicks his cock. I hear it throb in my head.

He hasn't registered the likelihood of his survival. Blu takes one of the men's socks and shoves it in his mouth.

"Shut the fuck up."

Blu pulls up a folder from her tote bag and reads,
"Fucked minors, infractions. Pedophile. Fucked politicians in trade for coin. Underground. Hmm. Yes, lots of embezzlement here. Book bans. Lobbyists. Tax free enterprise. Help the homeless? No. They want censorship. For the children they get to fuck. Oh. Yes. Luciola, will you get this? They want to make us little jezebels to do their bidding. Every convent. Yes, in the thousands. Breeders. The new world."

"Maybe we should scalp him. Make a flag out of his balding head."

"I hate cutting around the skull, it's too messy."

"He smells like burnt mustard. Can you smell that from here?"

"He smells like oatmeal soap. One of his security guards shat himself when I killed his friend."

"Cute."

"Torture is a lot of work." Blu pulled a gun from her bag. "Times up, rank bitch."

Blu shot a bullet right between the eyes, his dick still hard. She walks over to his body and shoots him up close in the heart to make sure he doesn't come back from the dead. She says godly men are unforgivable bastards that survive the dumbest shit. She hates that God believes they deserve forgiveness from sins. She says we sin in a different way, a burden they'll never be able to carry. This chapel is going to burn. She unties him and kicks him down the altar. I watch his body flop as if his organs are made of jelly. He's elastic, not plastic.

She beckons me to come to the altar, I lay my body against it. Tongue down my throat, it's hot, almost boiling from her anger. She shoves her fingers up my asshole and begins thrusting. Her nails dig in my insides, bumpy in the canal. There’s no pain that can replace lust. Face flushed, red and shy in the awkwardness of her touch. Toes to the crown, don’t stop. My eyes lock with hers, razor leveled. She uses the edge of her palm to slap my prepuce, my right leg jerks.

"Do you love me?"

"Till death do us part."

"You're not screaming it like you love me."

She plunges the same cross into my cunt. Splinters have made dimpled balls growing in the mucosal layer. Focus, stay present. It's now or never. Taste the blood behind the gums, it hurts and it's savory from my paramour. Her breasts flop into my face. Mouth open, flesh falls with wings clipped. Inside her shelter, hunger doesn't abide by rules.

Forget moderation, non stop consumption. Fractals from the leftover ketamine splits my brain in half wholesale. Ligaments pulled with tendons barely held together. Blood boils, bubbles raise before they pop, pop. Saliva, and sanguine fluid oozes from my mouth. I feel the virus of Blu inside of me.

My arm extends as I lower my knees, fingers grip the cross. Submission flips, her force wanes as the cross is held like a tool in my hand. Bondage in me expands and shreds from within. Mask off. Raised, I slap Blu across the face with the cross to watch her fall back onto the carpet. Her facial composure loses touch, her reality slips. Duality.

“Stay.” I command underneath my breath, her skirt lifted. I move to the tote bag with all our sex toys. A hot pink double sided dildo rests, my heart pumps with fervor. Blu watches my movement, stays still. Blood drips from her lips. Fat lips. Mine. Teeth sunken in. Forget hesitation, I'll give you ammunition.

“On your knees.” I spread her ass and pull my tongue into her tangerine pith. She whimpers, as if it’s her only weakness. Two fingers slide past the pith, and inside there’s mercurial liquid falling onto my hands. I don’t ask questions. Cautious wasn’t my forte. It doesn’t burn or smell. It’s scentless, thick goo.

Hand grab a chunk of ass flesh, I flip her backside. There’s a clunk, not the sound of bones. I unhinge her clenched jaw, and shove the dildo in her mouth. Slide it, ride it, she pants between each suck motion, it pops against silicone. Anxiety attacks rolls off the tongue before our machine puzzle piece fits. The same swell. Just well, well.

I creep, hands lift the lower back, “Say I do.” Growls in the ear, teeth on the cartilage. Soft like animal fur. Blu moans, and you grab her jaw and spit in her mouth. "Wake up. Don't you want this?"

Pursuit is an engine painted in the color red. Ride this pony into an stallion. Our blood mixes, and fights the cocktail it’s about to make, a virus that can’t be contained. Primal, the unforgivable. Same loves who feel immortal. I did not live to be forgiven, only forsaken. Blu’s legs shake against mine, pulverized underneath. Skins translucent, her nudity seems less human by each thrust, a creature of a silver fish. Cervix bludgeoned, our mouths open, waiting for the holy offering, her holy ghost.

Skim the surface, the dildo slips out of our bodies. I climb the mountain of her wet skin, feeling the change. I taste her lips as if I am a junkie, her control on my soul. She was my home, my prickly fix. At the peak, she bandages the wounds. The holes grow over the scars, in everywhere I’ve never belonged.

Adrenaline takes a break at the smell of smoke. There's a plink, pin pulled from a grenade somewhere near, and I cover her as we melt. Our skin metamorphosed to the carpet. Skin becomes stable statues in time. Now they’ll take it away, and I’ll never be the same.

Sweats umami loud. We'll never wake up.

Her eyes glow that blue that I saw the first time.

"I do."