Midnight, between Friday the 13th and Valentine's
Day. The blood red of a slasher horror melds into
red roses and satin hearts. The knife's edge
between pain and pleasure. The kinkster’s equinox.
A hand gliding across your cheek, and a palm
slapping your face. A long, lingering kiss and a hand,
wrapped right around your throat. A moan of pleasure,
and a whimper that begs for mercy. That's where
we live. Torn between two opposing forces, helplessly
caught between two desires. Love me. Hurt me.
Hurt me. Love me. Make me your whore, and
make me your good girl. Tenderness wrapped
in barbed wire. Hard edges covered in cool silk.
We can't be one without the other. A contradiction,
but it makes so much sense in that moment, where
you're mindless with the agony and the ecstasy.
Kill me today; love me tomorrow. When the clock
chimes, put down your whip. It's time
for rose petals.