Half-Bleeched Man in a Dream.

He gave too much away.
It wasn’t hard to recognize the branded wisps of passion in his voice.
He made the music taste that much sweeter.
And though the motion was too slow to concrete the certainty of its direction in my mind… soon enough the few moments of sluggish eternity passed and I felt his touch. His hand grazed my cheek… still warm and intense from the chords he had molested moments before to draw me in. He was no musician… but he played for me.
Sang it for me… learned it to see me smile.
Looking back I wish he’d have stayed for an encore.
I’ve spent most of my adolescence idolizing and swooning over the men who devoted themselves to the art… to the music.
Now I’m begging to realize it only takes one song.
A man could spend his whole life trying to craft and perform all the ballads that happened to drip from his pen… but still somehow lose himself.
Whereas this man… could spend a night with a bottle of wine and a 3 string guitar… and make history.

~Erin
They filled me full of drink
And led me round the rooms
Naked and cold and grinning
Until everything went black
And I came down spinning
I awoke so drunk and full of rage
That I could hardly speak
A fag in a whale bone corset
Draping his dick across my cheek
And its into the shame
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