Mindspace

When I drink I don't care about fancy metaphors. 

I care about the reality of my situation; the complexity, the seriousness. Holy shit. 

When I drink I can see myself from the third person.

Only if others could see my growth; I have become beautiful, I have become free. 

When I drink I am completely honest, unabridged, and truly myself. 

I lust for knowledge and my Masters, but understand that my rose colored hue of the world is mine alone. 

When I drink I am bad at all kinds of games; mind, board, and video alike. 

I always try my best as I do in everything I commit to. It is the foundation of growth. 

When I drink I remember my past and sadly decide I don't give a fuck. 

I am who I am and I am a powerful person. Fragile and made of stone. 

When I drink I just want to be real.

A real person with real feelings; real experiences that share my view on people and the world. 

When I drink... I am glad I have the protection of my Master. 

Because I know I am just a person; still new to the world and learning how to be an adult. 

When I drink, I think of how differently my life may have turned out. Greatful I didn't turn down thoes roads. 

Sometimes I wonder why I am here, as I am now. Then I realize, it is because it is where I am ment to be and I embrace it. 

-Pandaish. 

The bottom of my coffee cup is the best conversationalist. 

It doesn't judge me or tell me how to feel. 

Instead it just is; stained with the arms of its contents it kindly sits. 

At the bottom of my coffee cup are my hopes and dreams. 

Gently collected there in a pool of cream. 

They swirl as I tilt it for a better view; it's soft swish of liquid; singing to my ears. 

At the bottom of my cup is my sadness. Shown to me in such a peculiar way. 

It tells me to be. In all of my pain and sorrow. 

Because I am beautiful in every melody my soul sings; deep and slow the pain moves within. 

The bottom of my coffee cup is the kindest of things; it always is there when I need it to be. 

Offering solace where none else can be found. 

Whenever the need arises, it is there to be in my hands; warm to the touch and full of life. 

The bottom of my coffee cup is where my heart sits beating. 

A rhythm pure and slow, quietly waiting. 

Safe it sits; protecting me with its porcelain frame, so breakable yet so strong.

The bottom of my coffee cup is something I have grown to loath.  

Reminding me how alone I truly am; a single bird in the sky. 

But if the bottom of my coffee cup remindes me how melancholy my soul cries. 

Then my Master is the coffee in my cup. Keeping my heart warm and protected. It's thick liquid filling my every vein..

Covering the blank bottom and mixing in with my hopes and dreams. Separate and alone no longer.

For when my coffee cup of filled with that of my Master. I am a masterpiece once more. 

-Pandaish

Behind that door striped in purple and blue.

Gold embellished; tinted glass of two.

A beautiful grey threshold; stern and kind. 

It holds secrets untold, all the answers for the questions in my mind. 

No matter my method; the door remains locked.

It can't be that simple; every attempt has been stopped. 

Is that the answer? Could it be that simple?

My smile grows; all the way to the dimple. 

Every attempt of force, every taptaptap. 

Was met with silence; a growing mystery to unwrap. 

For now, I have my door. Strong and Glorious.

Patiently I'll wait, kneeling in surrender. The space behind it so curious. 

I shall wait for the day to come, for its indigo wood to open just a sliver.

The light within a purpe hum; its vibrations made me shiver.

I wait.

For that door to open. 

I wait. 

-Pandaish

Empty as the tank of gas in the driveway; dry and cold it waits. Eagar for use yet no one to try; it sits. 

Like that tank; her soul is empty. Waiting for Master to come and use us once again, she is stagnant as a pond in late summer; algae consuming its mirror green surface. 

Perpetual stillness; she is the snow. Silent as a stork, this person kneels in anticipation of the days new adventures. What is your wish Master. 

Rejection, emotionally scarred she opens her chest. A Masochist waiting for her dose of the best medicine. Her Master, five days silent she wonders. This train of thought that only holds passengers of the heart, and all of them are screaming for this ride to end; they cannot take the pain. 

Yet, she is a Masochist, she is the conductor as her brain is on fire and her heart in on ice. 

She waits.

Sick as she; hoping that soon she will know if this day is the day her Master will call for her. 

Or if she is still a Masochist. 

Waiting for the pain of rejection, the pain of loneliness. She is still. Silent as a thought and beautiful as a statue; she kneels. 

Because she is a Masochist. She lives for the pain, for the joy she gets when Master turns her way is the balm that she needs to survive. Her Master; her heart and soul he holds.

So she is a Masochist, waiting for her Master to return with her soul, she thrives in the pain. Life for the cuts, and celebrates the lashing. Red hot welts like chainmail. 

She is a Masochist.

-Pandaish

What is it; that prickle on the back of your neck.  As time slows and everything freezes for an instant; the adrenaline courses through your veins as if in a pressurized hose. 

The wheel between your palms is suddenly burning as you turn so sharply; to avoid the man in the road. He is in black, from head to toe. The sun has not yet risen hiding his intent as he scuttles in the darkness.

A thud; dull and buoyant. It floats in your mind as a dead bug in a glass of water. Panic consumes and all logical though escapes from your grasp. 

Hazard lights; you run 200 feet in the dark. He is shaking, laying on the ground on the side of the road. His left shoe off; black socks.

Blood; the flash of crimson blinds my sight and consumes my soul. He is hurt badly. I did this. I hurt him. He smiles weakly at me as he lays his head down, I beg him to forgive me and he just laughs. 

Puzzled; He says it's not my fault and I shake anyways, the air cannot come into my lungs fast enough, blackness at the edges of my vision. I need to breathe. Slowly...in and out. 

The police are called; panic arises. What if I am in trouble, I should have not been going 5 miles over the limit. Maybe I could have swirved and missed him altogether. 

During this I saw my life; what could have happened I could had tugged and went off the road. I could have been hurt myself.. or worse.

And after all of this, my mind still goes back to Him, the one who owns me; my soul, mind, heart, and body. Would have been angry at me...if I had gotten harmed. Would he say I was reckless with his property?

No, the memory of my Master alone is enough to be filled with light, clearing my mind enough to act. He will be OK, the man in black, but there will always be that thud. 

The thud, loud and buoyant as it echos in my memories. And the black sock covered foot burned into my mind. 

The thud. 

The incantation; Can you hear it?

There are whispers in the wind; enchanting as the candle light flame ablaze pulling you in. Shadows dance; a intoxicating tempo. Back and forth they sway, back and forth they sway. 

A ringing in your ears as the room around you dissolves, nothing but the candle. Silken hair a sunder; a gentle breeze calls your name. A tenor voice that warms your heart and fogs your mind begins to chant and you feel yourself slipping deeper, deeper, and deeper still. 

The voice demands obedience; strength cascades and consumes. You feel nothing, a empty box; waiting to be filled with the pride of another to be what you've always needed. 

Silently it commands, your fingertips tingle. Something almost familiar can be felt; a memory just out of reach. The moon meeting the sun in eclipse; together once more if not for a moment.

The wind settles, the candle dims. The voice rides the wake of your beating heart. Your legs tingle; heat rising from the pit of the earth. It echos within your mind; a chant so plain.

"You are mine." A chain around your soul. 

"I own your soul." A cuff around your ankle. 

"I am your God." A hand around your throat. 

The Spell is complete, each phrase a tie on your heart. It will never break; cast in iron and buried deep within your thoughts.

You are his. 

-Pandaish

A piano playing gently: sweet cotton candy pillows as your head lays down. You embrace the wings of angels and taste the ambrosia of God Divine. 

A spring warm to the touch; mothers soup and a snow blanket. A mug of camomile and a good conversation. 

Your favorite time of year, when everything sleeps; completely still yet loud all the same. Your favorite pair of shoes; worn and dearly loved. 

Your reflection; this is you, beautifully broken and put back together with gold. You are whole no matter how many times you're dropped. 

A bed of rose petals; velvet touch kisses your skin. His lips; burned into your mind. His hands; ghosts upon your body. His voice; music to your soul.

The moons light as she cradles you into heaven, to be cared for forever. Peace in your soul. Calm in your mind. Love in your heart. 

Together you are safe, as He is your shield as life slashes at your throat. He is the white light that engulfs you.

He is Serenity. My Master.

A dark night; not a sight or sound can be had here. 

Silence; a cacophony of blades clashing, drawing life second by second. 

I am lost; an island far from sanity the monsoon eats me whole. 

Cuts; weighing on my soul, dimming the glow that defines moment by moment. 

The scream erupting;  not a heart can hear.

Pain; swallowing my heart, killing a part of this person hour by hour. 

This agony is; who I am, in dangerous complexity. 

-Pandaish

A sin indeed, call me a devil. 

As the shadows swallow the daytime, covered in dress, no one is who they seem. A bunny hops; that bunny is me, for it is all hallows eve. 

I am sex incarnate, it seeps from my mouth as words seductive. The mist seeps into your ears, a musical song, whispers of promise. 

I turn, another target. One is not enough; I need them both, their eyes on me. Maybe to many drinks were had, inhibitions dessolve. 

I am a succubus casting my spell with each sway of my hips. One brave enough, presses me against a dark corner. It flares, will I be made to honor my promise?

His breathe on my neck, like a hand strangling the sense out of me. Heart rate climbs, his knee between both of mine. 

Desire is palpable, thick in the air as smoke. I feel him; a temple against my thigh and I am a priestess. The miasma inhaled, he smells of weed and need. Delicious. 

Flares, fire of the earth heating me from the core. Brushing against the point of no return.. so close it throbs. 

All consuming it engulfs. No longer a flame now an Inferno. Need so deep it frightens you. Sobriety strikes. I need to be quelled. As I succumb another hand...another man.. brave he touches my soul; does it burn him, no. He engnites with me, and together we are lust. 

I am lust embodied. My need is great can one alone quell this fire. No I need more, I both of them. Mindless; raw as honey, sweet and sticky. 

I am the sin of lust and I am in control. 

Existing in a state of numb, on standby; surviving like an ember lone in the hearth..

Movement blurred as if time is the sun climbing behind the mountains; dusk ingulfing the last beams. 

Life; existing in a on a shelf collecting forgotten memories. A dissonance between spirit and mind like a wave break. 

As oceans rise and the world melts, sea and land meet again. A collision as combustive as fourth of July sky; a spray of color and shape. 

Days become clear, the haze dissipating. Focus is coming as sure as the clouds are soft and the trees are sharp.  Blur now a brilliant canvas; a manifestation of the clarity of mind. 

Joy; yellow as the sun. Excushiating; honey so sweet. Surely death could be had in peace in this warmth. All consuming; consciousness hot as a iron. 

Peace; cool as the moon. Soothing; a swim on a moonlight night. Surely death could be had in rapture in this silence. All consuming; spirit a serene as ice. 

Days become still, the warmth burning slowly within. The cup of tea steams; reminding us to be still. Live in the moment; remember it's scents. Cilantro in the morning, covered in dew. 

The ocean freezes waiting for the warmth to flare to mix the color of sky once more. Patience as strong as the wall within. Protected; a cocoon. 

Life; like a camera charging for an adventure. Only briming with possibilities, as foam of an IPA. A promise of fun the excitement like a promotion; well deserved and yours. 

Moments to look forward to; like a Sunday evening in winter. Contagious as the happiness of a child. So pure it could burn like metal; molten wounds on your heart. 

Existing in a state of wonder, ready for the next dawn; a lark in the mist...