Pain in Pleasure

The space around me teems with life, bodies swaying and grinding, some rhythmic and in sync, others awkward and desperate. I am neither. A base thrums through my veins, vocals pull words from my soul, and an electric guitar pierces the ragged edges of my heart. There's nothing left but the beat of the drum, pounding it all out of me so the cycle can repeat.

Energy surges close to the emptiness that surrounds me but never quite touches me. I often wonder why. I can only assume that it's of own design. I turned my back on life when I allowed myself to be broken now the world around me reaches out with empty hands. It matters little to me since I expect nothing from them anyway.

I hear laughter. In the past hour, I've allowed the laughter to slip past my own lips. I mimic the happiness of those around me the best I can. There was a time when it came from somewhere deep within, a swelling like a rising tide in my chest. I try to remember what it was like when I felt but the sorrow overtakes me so quickly I have to snap the it shut before I drown in a sea of pain. Then there are the times when it's too late and I'm left with an ache that never seems to numb.

I know what makes me forget. It will be here soon. He will be here soon. The gaping hole in my chest is forever burning but he doesn't mind swimming in the flames. He cannot heal me but he can make me forget. If only for those moments when I lose myself in him, when I'm drowning in his heat and the raw sensual frustration of how he teases me, and makes me beg for more. It's enough to keep me high. I can make it through another day. It is, of course, another day closer to my healing.

It is only time that can heal me, they insist. It feels as though it's been an eternity already. An eternity since his passion replaced my burden. He burned away the ache from every inch of my body with his lips, touching me in ways that dissolved my tormentor's face. With his hands on my body, I could lose myself completely, without consequence. He demanded nothing from me, only promised me pleasure beyond my pain.

Occasionally, my confidence falters, memories consume me, and I start to feel like a stained glass window on a playing field. I know he'll shatter me but I'll welcome it¦ repeatedly. His eyes find me in the crowded room and I feel the heat instantly. My exposed skin responds without repent as I long for his touch. I need to feel him. To taste him. To wash away everything that binds me to reality. There is no shame in this passion, only longing.

Life is hard, his body is harder. I welcome the pain in this pleasure.