“My state of mind purple”

Taken with Instagram

Yey Olympic tree (Taken with Instagram)

If we’re attacked u will find me in this hut (Taken with Instagram)

Olympics bitches (Taken with Instagram)

Bored, naked and not writing (Taken with Instagram)

White bed sheets on a gray morning (Taken with Instagram)

lickypickystickyme asked: Hahahaha I saw that, but I was too damn lazy to change it. I will now ;)

:) Sorry for being a grammar dick. If it helps I can’t spell for shit, so I’m sure you’ll be able to get me back sometime.

I think I love my Mr Man, he makes me … well he makes me cum. He makes me smile, and I feel so very cosy and safe and protected when he’s with me. He helps me stop being a character in my own head and makes me a real life person, when he’s with me. But that’s not love, not all of it, not enough of it. We haven’t seen each other in six weeks, but he wont let me leave him, wont tell me he loves me, but won’t let me leave him.

I got smacked with a Tefal frying pan full of cooked ketamine last night, I don’t remember much except that being whacked with a cold, hard, flat, metal object hurts like the dickens and makes me cum like a bitch. Oh and I was re-reminded that I like a face full of giz.

It was odd the gentleman in question didn’t enter me. He smacked me with his frying pan, and whipped me with my belt, he ate my pussy and hugged me, kissed me, made me giggle and alternated between playing me and playing for me.

I often feel my Mr Man only penetrates me… enters me so that he go again, leaves nothing behind. We don’t bond we fuck well, very well.
When he’s not with me, I run reels of edited, mental footage of ‘us’, I cling to the him in my head that’s not that bad, and love that man. I do that a lot.

But I woke up this morning with a sore bum that he could not of given me, I woke up with a sore bum on the other side of town, with a Gentleman more my own age, having done what people my age do (got fucked up and fucked (ish)) and felt not ill at ease but in unfamiliar territory, and oddly enough happy.

He played the double bass; with long smooth fingers, he played the double bass.
He played the piano too, stole peices of her heart with moonlight sonarta and put her in a sentimental mood. She found that each note that fell from him kept her there, held her there, put her out in space and filled it around her. She didn’t fall for him, she crashed for him, fell apart and regrouped for him. Like a born again, he was her saviour.

heyimkayk:

back from summer…when we just blazed away the days

I fear I have lost the ability to express myself with both clarity and sentiment and it terrifies me, because without it I don’t know who I am.
I feel the statement below profoundly, too often, and to my core and yet I am unable to articulate it with any of the grace, clarity or poetry kay kay has managed. I have always known that she is an outstanding visual artist, I did not know she was a wordsmith too (it seems she tries rather hard to hide it)

i get moments when my everything is overshadowed with deep emotion. there is no real problem, which makes everything a problem. because all i do is stay still to feel. every dismissed speckle of feeling fights its way to the foreground momentarily paralyzing my ability to feel just that little bit sane. trickled tears with no purpose other then to sour my face.