mon ange guérissan (loooong)

He absently runs his nails over my hip.
I shiver and stretch my torso closer,
always closer, I'm always straining closer.
my stomach turns as I let out a shaky breath-
and inhale his scent.

He's still running his nails along my flesh,
I don't think he knows what this does to me.
I bite my lip as hard as I can,
only tensing when my canines break pink flesh-
I bleed quietly.
it fills my mouth, slides down my throat,
I can feel it cover my heart, syrupy and inflamed.
A sweet heart inferno.

I close my eyes and move farther into myself.
On the surface, I know, I look content- happy.
He turns his head to kiss me, I kiss back, then ache,
with every fiber of my being I sing out.
He doesn't hear it though, deafened by my natural walls.

I still feel it course throughout my body.
On the inside I'm screaming and begging-
I'm scraping my knees from crawling along the dark floor.
Every instinct in me is belittling me
Every string of my heart is being pulled and demanding

I should be rolling off the bed and kneeling beside it.
and if I did, just as my nature tells me to-
I'd lower my head, clasp my hands together on my thighs.
When He asked me what I was doing with that look on his face
I would respond with a quiet please

He wouldn't know what I meant, of course he wouldn't.
I can't expect him to know what is hidden behind my walls.
So I would bite my lip, dig my nails into my thighs and talk quiet.
Probably too quiet for him to hear, I do so whenever I'm ashamed.
He would tell me to speak up- to tell him what was wrong.

How do you explain to your lover something you don't quite understand?
I would try to explain, as best as my ugly words can.
He would end up thinking I was asking to be fucked,
to be taken roughly, pinned, bitten, bleeding, whimpering- blissful.
But No- I don't deserve that, not anymore.
I doubt I ever did, really.

He would ask again, then, what is it?
and I would end up putting it bluntly,
against my instinct to be artful
I would hide behind my messy hair and lick the wound on my lip.

I need to be punished, I would end up saying.
It's not...  not about sex, or, really, about dominance,
So you don't have to worry about taking me back as your pet.
I just- just need to be punished.
I need to be degraded and hurting.
My nature demands of me a tiff of tears and whimpers.

How do you tell your ange guérissant, your healing angel
you need to feel as if you are nothing?
How do you explain that aching spot in your heart?
Is there any words to explicate this desire?
But I would try to tell him anyway.

Even if I brake myself in doing so.
I trust him, and only him, with my heart, my soul-
my will to live is in his hands.
Though I would be terrified that he would take pity on me.
He would deliver uninterested strikes at me
I would hate it if he didn't enjoy it himself.

Sometimes the thought of pity is enough 
a punishment in its own regard.
So instead when he asks what is it or
why I am kneeling beside the bed
I will say something like
I'm going to the bathroom or
Getting a drink, want some tea?
and he will say OK or english breakfast tea

and I'll leave the room and curl up
on the counter in the bathroom
bite my lip and refuse to eat for another day.
I punish myself for being so weak

This is the only comfort I can give myself
That I managed to avoid baring too much of myself
I am safe for another day from pity and shame
and my ange guérissan still loves me
of course that is another thing to punish myself for;
He would hate to know I call him ange guérissan,
even if he is my healing angel