Muse: The Ghost Writer
Black coffee is how I like it,
Trim the edges of my warm body glazed with butter and jelly,
Dunk me under slowly so I can catch my chest pumps in a timely fashion,
I trust you enough to not take my last breath,
Hazy wet streaks gloss over my forehead burning the midnight oil,
Today's my birthday and I haven't even once moved form this desk,
Sitting naked with my legs crossed tighter and tighter my blue ivory thong squeezes it's way up my spine,
Clinching away trying to end the day sooner than later,
My Dom stands behind me patiently waiting for me to finish,
I can hear him pacing back and forth with heavy squeaky boots,
Slowly and forcefully,
I can hear the air waiving between the paddle back and forth,
The room was dark and smoky with just a desk lamp to brighten up the corner of the room, My brown shoes blended in with the floor as Masters requests,
I had no idea what he had in store for me,
Tonight was going to be a big surprise,
As I type my last sentence sweat drips off my finger tips and slips into the groves of the keyboard,
The letters begin to drop down in slow motion,
The vinyl player starts playing a chopped and screwed version of Amy Winehouse,
Me and Mr Jones,
He walks up behind me and wraps the bull whip around my neck a few times,
He slowly leans the back of my chair backwards coming towards him,
I knew as soon as I hit the ground it was over,
My coffee shoots straight up in the air
Papers fly across the ceiling,
My Dom pushing all of his weight on top of my body,
It felt like I was falling forever never hitting the ground,
A life span of slow motion keeps me anxious,
I need this theory of inception to wake me up already,
It has to be a dream,
Someone WAKE ME Up!...
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