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Demon in Leather (Mature Readers Only)

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Title: Demon in Leather


This is not love, its a disease. I'm down on my knees, you were not sent from above. 

"Demon in leather, kiss it all better", you are my master, cannot forget her. 

Blood on the sheets, curtains, walls, mirror! Who is that girl, what is this horror? 

I'm pinching myself to wake up from this night terror! 

The cuff's, so deceitful, whip only knows evil, master's medieval, this is illegal. 

Shards of glass fragment my past; bruises and slashes turn me to ashes. 

I am his slut, the girl in the mirror, wish she would cut, but then I'd feel her. 

Lines on the walls, missing bathroom stalls, dreaming of void and skulls and being meat for the gulls. 

Sadism, my decision, escapism my ambition, finale the barrel of a gun;

 But I don't even think I can run... 

I told him it wasn't that fun, he laughed as if it couldn't be undone, 

I told him I wanted to see the sun, he said if he'd sinned what was just another one? 

Is this what I deserve, to serve, to be the curb to the stomp, the reverb to the romp?

I can't cope, I won't hope, its not that I've given up just that I was destined for this from the start. 

I've gotta play the part, bulls-eye for the dart; play the part and cry in the dark...

My mind its numb, maybe that'll help my body some; I'm his gum, spit me out when he's done. 

This is not what I expected, he's supposed to stop when I objected, but now I've been subjected, no longer protected. 

Its not like I don't understand, after all I am this man kicking myself around in a tin can, no, its that I do; and I hate you...

A feeling so raw, nostalgic awe, a saving grace now a damning disgrace, I had no time to brace. 

Pain saved me, I loved him so; gave him the key and whispered, "Don't let go". 

But the key was not for me, but for my pretty, pretty little bitches, used to sing that song inside my head. 

Oh yes my pretty, pretty little bitches, watch them scream and wail until their all dead. 

But we all cry at funerals, even for dolls, yes we all cry at funerals before shopping malls.

And now my blood rushes from my head, whatever happened to pretend? 

And on his face no smile cured, whatever happened to the safe word? 

Yes I am him and I know the answer for I've given in to this cancer. 

Knock on the door, merry laughter, blood on the floor, get the pastor. 



Note: I gave a lot of thought to this poem so I hope you guys all liked it! ~♥

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