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|Pockets, I really love that one. It makes so much sense. When I was reading it my heart was beating at the same rate as I read, "Drip Drip Drip."
|I have no idea why but as I plan to post this story I have that nervous as all hell churning stomach feeling and it's really bugging me. My hands are even shaking a bit. I don't think the story has anything to do with that feeling though. Anyway, here is The Color Red which some of you have already seen. I just felt it was appropriate to the thread.
The Color Red
I like the color red. Itâ€™s a beautiful color. Strong, vibrant, full of energy and life. Life. Thatâ€™s the key. Life saturates every part of ones being. It fills us to the top, sometimes brimming over the edge, spilling on the floor in a beautiful, magical cascade of red liquid life.
Drip, drip, drip.
I love that sound. Light reflects off of the metal. Slowly, one drop at a time, the liquid life of my body drips from the gash in my arm to fall into the sink.
Drip, drip, drip, drip.
The pain floods my body. Filling me with pleasure. That must sound weird to you. Pain and pleasure. Not two words that typically collide in the same sentence I know. But for me it is very true.
Pain is my pleasure.
Itâ€™s the only thing that I know is real. It is the only thing that I know will always be there for me. Friends come and go. Relationships fade. Family members die. And at the end of the universe, when the last living being screams out its utter sorrow to the universe, pain, will still be there.
Pain is real. It is absolutely, the only thing I can count on.
Drip, drip, drip, drip, drip.
The knife in my hand feels so comforting. Solid, and sharp. The red handle of the pocket knife fits perfectly in my palm, as the razor sharp blade bites deeply into my flesh as I draw it firmly once more over my arm.
I am not trying to kill myself. Oh no. I donâ€™t want to die. I donâ€™t fear death, but I still have too much to do before I can find peace. For now, pain is the only solace I have.
Once again the blade bites into the skin of my upper arm, the tear widens as I pull the blade across my skin putting pressure on it so that it will dig deeper into the muscle. An erotic moan of pure pleasure tears its way free of my lips. Unable to help myself I moan again as the bright red blood runs down the length of my arm to slowly gather itself at the tips of my fingers before it falls free.
Time seems to slow as it falls through the air. A near perfectly spherical orb of liquid life, which then splatters in the already more red than white sink.
Drip, drip, drip, drip, drip, drip.
God, is this wrong? Is this pleasure somehow indecent? Is it perverted? Is it a sin? Is it something else? Or is it what I need it to be? Is it the only real thing in this universe that anchors me to the hell that is called Life?
Help me. Please. Someone help me.
I want it to stop. I want the pain to stop.
No. I need the pain. I canâ€™t take life without the pain. Itâ€™s the only thing that sustains me.
â€¦Butâ€¦ I hate it. I hate the pain that grips me. I hate it, but still, my hand draws the blade across my flesh, and I moan in pure pleasure as the pain assaults my senses, blocking out all other thoughtsâ€¦ andâ€¦ just letting meâ€¦ drift.
Someoneâ€¦ anyoneâ€¦ wonâ€™t you please help me?
Drip, drip, drip, drip, drip, drip, drip.
Originally posted by Pockets
Actually... I rarely think of what I'm writing when I write poetically..
I like your poem, Makura. It's so very... accurate.
|Post it in Story, it's where it belongs... I need to repost The Bath and Desire.
But yeah, that is a cool poem Makura.
Damn, I wish I hadn't lost Faeries in the Moonlight... I need to rewrite that one, I think you would like it. Not sure if Cryus will though.
|Some of you may have already read it but I wrote a poem about this..
"Can't Save Me"
I fear you who read this. Based on what you may think or say. You may try to save me and tell me this is wrong. But, is it?
What illustrates my satisfaction, this glowing puddle of red.
My savior, this blade.
My passion, my love, is pain.
Pain dulls my senses, everything is blurred.
The cut stands out, and the only thing that's clear is unquestionable hurt.
Pain will be with me always. It's the only thing that's left.
Pain can't leave me, it won't abandon me.
It's my last attempt at holding on.
I'm cold, emotionless...numb. But this cut is so alive and warm, welcoming and desireable.
I love it. But do I?
Pain, my murderer has left me lifeless, and yet it still lingers. Watching me die. I slowly lose this grim life.
If you're reaching out in an attempt of rescue.... quit.
This isn't wrong, and you can't save me.
I'm too far gone.
Pockets, you should post The Color Red. I love that one.
|That, belial, has got to be one of the most poetic ways I've ever heard it described.
Very interesting thought process must have gone on to create that string of words. *applaudes*
|Cutting, for me, is like a vent. It lets out steam.. You stroke the razor across your fragile exsistence... letting all of your woes dissipate in the air as the blood runs across your skin..|
|Hey.... Pockets cutting is very VERY addictive. My sis she used to cut a lot. Because of stress. My mom prepared me for the day that Kris was smoking cigarettes instead of cutting. I said "what ever as long as the razor blade is out of my site."
That night my sis was crying for no reason. Saying things like "I know your going to be mad and disappointed at me, but I'm-"
I butted in and laughed a little. "Smoking instead of cutting. I understand and it's no big deal. Hey... I don't like pain okay? I saw that bloody rag and the razor blade. I tried to think of the many ways to go to you about it...but... I never could. It wasn't fair that I would have you scream at me and lie to me that your aren't cutting. Mom told me so it's okay. Okay?"
My sis was really.... mad that she made me go through tears just for that. XD
|Like big bro said, I'm impressed. I think that it's cool that you take your writing so seriously. It's dedication and I respect that. I've based a few stories off of SI, they make for good reads.|
|so yeah, stupid reason here we come. Though sis (makura for those that have missed that she's my little sister) says she was impressed. *shrugs*
I'm a writer. One of the things I've learned in my writing is that research is important. If I write about a character that knows how to pick locks and is a good theif I'm going to research security systems and the tools needed to picks locks and bypass those security systems and I'm going ot actually learn to pick a lock so I know what I'm talking about when I write the character.
I had a story that was about a character that escaped reality through cutting. Course I'd never done that before. Research, research, research. I'd read up on the subject, I'd read account from people interviewed about it and I came to one very important conclusion.
I could not, under any circumstances, accurately write a character doing that and feeling that without experiencing it myself. It would come off as fake and half assed and wouldn't make any sense to those that knew it intimately.
Natural progression from there.
I just discovered, like sis, that I liked it a lot. More in a masochistic way than any desire to escape reality or any other reason I just thought it felt good.
So there it is. Feel free to ridicule for my idiocy.
|Well the failure part was when I was going through a tough time in the beginning of my junior year. I called myself a failure, a dishonorable part of my family, and a shame to society. I was dumped ofcourse, and I tried to make it an amacable relationship. It's too much stress and too hard to hide the fact that I was depressed. I have my friends for that.|
|Shifting subjects now. How did you start? Pockets mentioned twice that he started for a stupid reason. I already know how he started but I'm leaving this open to tell how you started and why.
Like I said before, my boyfriend carved my name into his arm so I carved his initials into my hand. It just so happened that I like it..ALOT.
|Never have I cut myself. Only once I poked my hand with a needle on purpose, that was when I was hysterical after my bio-dad and I had that humongous arguement about being adopted. Got the scar on my hand to prove it. Pain sucks. I 've noticed that. That's why it's hard for me to stay mad more than 45 minutes. The only self injury I have done to myself is 'psychological' injury. Where I have called myself a failure, put myself down, and choke my own words to myself. It's something I haven't done in a while. I'm proud of myself for that.|
|You know... I used to think it was difficult to find people with a similar interest in the macabre, which is what this discussion could be called. Go figure a simple thread and here there's at least a half a dozen or so. *is too lazy to count exactly.*
Burning I never really cared for, I like fire but I don't like being burned. I have some burn scars that never faded from accidents. I also think it's just a like blades too much. In a martial arts class I was in for a short time I was doing weapons training with bladed sais as opposed to the ones that only have points. I like swords and knives, especially the way the edge gleams when light catches it just right.
Everyone that's mentioned cutting and other stuff so far seems to have something in their life that set it off that was at least mildly understandable. I started cause I was a stupid idiot.
Oh well. Let's do our best to keep this thread alive, it'd be nice to have a place to talk about stuff like this with people that won't judge.
|IVe done everything the worst i think ive probley done is razorblade to my upper legs ive taken pills Lots of them killing my liver drinking my self to it went away have taken drugs lots of things to get away from it. im not really into it much more. but bloodplay still interests me in slight ways|
|I've done several things ti try and inflict bodily harm on meyself.. I've cutted, burned, jumped off of high places in hopes of breaking stuff, atempted suffocation, drowning, and some other things i dont like to mention.. My life has been full of sorrow and depression since I can remember, my parents split when I was younger.. and alot of other things, I was by myself till i hit 3 grade, I didnt have any friends or anything so I've stuck to myself for a good majority of my life. And like Elara and Makura said... I think that is the purest way to show true love and trust to somone.. putting yer life in somone elses hands and trusting them. It is beautiful..|
|I like fire to Torque I've burned myself a few times and like to poor candle wax over my arm.
Just to clarify, since it seems like this thread is dying, anyone can their opinion here.
|ya im not gunna step into the bloodplay thing but i poured lighter fluid on my hand one time juss see that i was on fire it was cool i like fire.|
|Makura and Elara are both right. Most commonly blood play occurs during or before intercourse but it doesn't always have to. The reason it usually does is because it's like the equivalent of a reallyheavy make out session that evolves into losing clothes and there ya go.
So it isn't as often that someone can stick with just the bloodplay and not go on to intercourse.
|I'd rather not touch on the bloodplay, but to each their own. Anywho, I guess if you count the fact that I like to play with my internal energies to the point that, yes, I can die...I guess that counts as self-mutilation.|
|This is a long thread. Click here to view it.|