my Dixie sings, and sings, and i, i watch
and muse evil things, of things like touching
and pleasing, and kissing,
of lasting forever in her arms while she withers
and WITHERS, and just fucking wilts
my Dixie sings, and hovers over the refrain
lost in the chorus of her life
that seems to always repeat itself in the same motions
one play after the other, the same line over and over
and i, hesitate on the nomenclature of the thing
that buries her in effervescent wonder
how my Dixie can, return to the same idea forever
she lingers on the heartfelt emotion (well, SHE thinks it heartfelt,
I know it to be false, and rumored) of the being she was with
just last night, with his thighs, his muscular thighs
and his long, heavy protruding cock
i see things, i see them all the time, as i pry
pry through the keyhole to her room
where her moans drive me insane and i clutch the door frame
she sings, my Dixie, in luscious tones that invigorate me
to ponder evil things, she sings, and in lulling tones
causes me to pass the boundaries of innocence
and to stride, almost confidently into the land called Destitute
she fills me with a longing, to hear her vocal cords trill
and hum with the vibration of a note gone sour
to plunge, viciously a bludgeoning blade
into that lovely voice
that intoxicating voice
my Dixie, my singing harpy Dixie
Nyx...
Author notes
Written September 8th, 2004
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Why is it these women take us to all the places we really don't want to be? But, really, in having them, it seems we can go there with so much less pain than was ever possible before they existed.
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ah, yes!
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So what does one do when they wake up in the middle of the night and can't get back to sleep? They (I) come see what Dixie is up to. Still loving this series.
Desiree
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Your love that borders on obsession is painfully evident here. But I would color more like a rebellion (albeit in your head) against all of the hurt and rejection she subjects you to. And it is the logical conclusion almost anyone would come to while they are perpetually cast aside for the next hard cock or tight cunt. Always being second best when the desire to be first is never acknowledged has the power to not only wound, but to drive you mad. I see she is doing this and I can picture you sitting there while she sings (quite possibly drunk)while her voice both soothes and inflames your mind and in my head, you are drunk, too. That contemplative, observant type of drunk where your head runs away with you and all that matters is what you are seeing...and how you play it in your head...
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