deepundergroundpoetry.com

Living Canvas

I look at him all tied up on the bed
He looked up at my masked face eager and filled with my lies
I quietly use one of my favorite knives to cut
The pale blue T-shirt I asked him to wear
His pants all ready on the floor in a pile
People like him shouldn't be allowed to wear blue
I run my hands down his handsome chest
Looking in his eyes I place a kiss  
Ever so softly between his god like defined pecks
I quckly check the restrains he willingly allowed, requested even
Tightening them I ignore the dirty talk he indulged in
I ponder how I shall begin this activity of joy
Kneeling beside the bed, well out of his vision
I pull out the intricately carved black box
My little box of fun as I jokingly told him
He groaned as if he was imagining his fantasy
But I had other plans for his sculpted flesh
Plans that involved very few moments of pleasure
I unfolded the black leather bag holding my assortment of knives
Straight blades, curved, forked and twisted
I fondled my favorite, a blade that I took great care of
It was a straight blade with a slightly curved end
Faint flamed had been grinded or carved into the metal  
The handle a blue stone of some sort with faint black stains
I could hear him start to suspect that something wasn't right
Grabbing the bed I stood up, the knife in hand
Watchimg the fear enter his eyes was delightful  
I straddled his waist, his hard on fading fast against me
Holding the blade against his throat I smiled
I asked him how many hearts he had broken
As the blade created a small line of red as I drew it back
He whimpered a number before sobbing how he didn't exactly know
I watched as his face faded and turned into the one who hurt me
My voice broke as I whispered his name
The boy under me laid there confused I'm sure
I held the knife, razor sharp and clean, against his chest
I carved words and symbols into his flesh
Of broken hearts, love poems and lyrics
His chest my canvas for the night  
His screams and bucking only made the knife go deeper
Leaving jagged and uneven lines, oh, how I hate that
I covered his mouth with my left hand as  
I carved my symbol in the middle of his chest
Right where I had kissed him so softly in the beginning  
Once I was done with his perfect chest
His chest, my living canvas, I kissed him
Hard and passionately, his sobbing stitching my soul
Made the gapping whole in it smaller than before
I thanked him for being my living canvas
I quietly told him that it was time for me to go
Promising him that I would call 911 once the morning came
I gathered my things, my knifes and toys
And left my living canvas weeping on the cheap motel bed
Written by BlueBeastGirl (Beasty)
Published
All writing remains the property of the author. Don't use it for any purpose without their permission.
likes 4 reading list entries 0
comments 4 reads 594
Commenting Preference: 
The author encourages honest critique.

Latest Forum Discussions
SPEAKEASY
Today 11:20pm by Ahavati
SPEAKEASY
Today 11:19pm by Ahavati
POETRY
Today 11:05pm by Grace
COMPETITIONS
Today 9:37pm by Kinkwizard_95
SPEAKEASY
Today 6:23pm by Liziantus-Marantus
COMPETITIONS
Today 5:25pm by ajay