I'm so lost now. Nothing is real anymore.
I hate to say it, but he made me feel real. Ever since I left, I've descended far worse into my derealization, lost amidst the waves of uncertainty.
I'm glad I left; it was too much to handle. I'm just scared, I've began to live my nightmares, my worst fears. I've finally lost all connection to what is real and what is not.
Its fucking terrifying.
But,
I keep seeing the same twisted scenario in my head.
My brain keeps failing at trying to convince me it would be hypothetically okay.
Because it's not okay.
It's fucked up.
I'm at his house.
Thats how it starts, this twisted, unwanted fantasy.
I catch his eyes and he already knows I've lost myself.
That I've dissociated past the point of return.
We get closer. Closer. Closer.
I ask, "one more night. Please"
He hates me for it.
Yet deep down he missed it.
Maybe even craved it.
It takes one desperate gleam in my eyes and his lips collide with mine.
I needed yet hated the taste of his spit.
Yet it made me feel so real.
Everything was so uncalled for.
So unlike me.
So against my routine of in my room all day, spaced out to the white noises.
His hands grip me.
His touch is hungry, more starved than anything before.
More fiery and structured than before.
Like this time, he wanted something more.
No more slacking around.
He'd plaster himself on me, and I'd let him do as he wishes.
I'd crash back down on his bed.
He'd get atop me and peel my shirt up, feeling along my waist.
Our lips wouldn't separate for a moment, even out of oxygen we were.
My legs would wrap around his waist. Our chests would collide, skin to skin.
My hands would be pinned, unable to move.
He'd claim me with each stroke, each passionate caress of his fingers and his lips.
The night would be so dark that it would remain hidden.
We would remain hidden.
And there, there that feeling would be,
In my core.
How I'd only realized after I left, that while we indulged in emotionless intimacy.
It had been lust.
I had been in lust with him.
Every time, that feeling in my core.
Every time, that breaking of my morals.
And every time, that insatiable urge to push myself tighter against him every time he touched me.
Just like in this fantasy.
Except it's more.
The electricity shoots down my chest.
God I used to love it when he kissed me there.
I'd arch my neck and my eyes would roll back every time.
Don't stop.
Please don't stop.
It feels so good.
Too good.
Far too fucking good.
How in lust I'd been yet so blind.
But there, in this twisted unwanted needed fantasy,
My eyes roll back.
He scrunched the hair on the back of my head.
His kisses go lower.
I feel the slight throb.
I knew exactly where.
The electricity was through my veins.
Lower.
Lower.
Lower.
Lower he kissed.
I feel so real.
So real.
I'm alive.
I exist.
Oh god
Oh god
I hate this
I love this
Make it stop.
Don't, don't stop
Please
Please-
