Spiraling Downwards

I'm not sure what's gotten into me.

We're trapped, bound to the confines of these four walls that are reminders that we're nothing but mere captives; just pawns to a game neither of us intended on playing. We've got a role to play, and I suppose we'll be playing it if we know what's good for us, and that's exactly what we did, at first. But the rules got cruel and unfair, not to mention a sick flicker of boredom washed through me, so we changed things up. It all backfired on me, hence the reason we're as stuck as we are.

I've been thinking too much, and so has he, but we're in this together and all I want to do is to just stop thinking. Feeling takes less thought, and feeling is instant gratification. No strings attached to anything you're about to do. Perhaps that's my motive when I let my eyes, ordinarily cold and guarded, reach my partner in crime, the one I had no choice in having. Maybe that's the reason I allow the burst of courage to overtake the controls in my head when my fingers reach to the pale nape of his neck and let them curl around the soft, light strands of hair that poke out. Those are probably the reasons why I allow my rough and chapped lips to cover those lips that have the silky texture of pink primrose petals. It's not the first time we've done this, nor will it be the last, but this is the first time I voluntarily take part in this. It's also the first time I've ever instigated this step in our companionship.

His hands cup my face as the dark tresses spilling from my skull and cascading downwards create a curtain to shield us from what little light we're actually receiving over here. I know better, but I need to stop craving an explanation and start craving him instead. As things escalate and we're dismissing frivolous distractions surrounding us, I also notice that we're becoming a heated mess of tangled passion, both feral and wild while we hunger for a touch so animalistic, it leaves a trail of burning flames in its wake. We're both on fire now, and we'll do anything to extinguish it, even if it's by means that we both know will only end in us being thrust into hell.

At this point, I have more than just an inkling that we're doomed when our fingers start clawing at each other, groping for a placeholder on one another. Loose buttons clink as they pound like rain against the chilled surface ground and we're desperately clinging to each other while simultaneously trying to relieve ourselves of the itch that gnaws at our insides, an itch only the other can scratch. We rid ourselves of our material barriers, and at this point, I know for a fact that our fates are sealed.

Damned. We are damned, souls sent to damnation. We're damned to the highest of damnation, a damning to end all damning in less than a blink of an eye. So damned, that our damnation is scorched in a frenzy of touch, and I don't regret it. We're a messy tangle of limbs, the carnal passion almost tangible as our salty skins slam into each other and my heart isn't the only thing that's pounding inside of me. Biting and leaving marks with a fervor I didn't even realize we had. It sent a twisted rope of heat to punish me with a whipping that I love too much to deny I deserve. This makes me feel alive in a way I can't even begin to explain, and I know that I'm a goner.

Our movements become sloppier and less calculated as we continue trying to make this exchange last, but we eventually slip into unadulterated bliss. The collective heat we've created to warm ourselves up in ways that we've never done before is slowly dying, like the embers of a fire. My body is still thumping, much like the controlled beating of my blood-pumping heart crashing against my precious ribcage. I steal a curious glance against the mess of skin and bones that I'm still pressed against, and in that moment, I know that I'm spiraling downwards. I truly am damned, but at least I felt alive whilst claiming myself for the damned.

I'm still not sure what's gotten into me.