22.12.16

 There’s passion, or there’s nothing. And I want the type that drips down your back and soaks the sheets. The kind that makes you lose sleep, and late for work in the morning. The type of passion she still feels between her legs the next day. Passion that begins in one room, and ends on the floor of another. I’m talking about the kind that pins down wrists, and demands eye contact. Passion that makes her body quiver, and her legs tremble. I mean passion that’s so seductive that she would never dream of looking for it from someone else. That’s so uninhibited, intimate, and full of handfuls of hair, or hips, or their neck, or ankles, and makes you wish they had more hands. But they don’t. And it’s more than enough. And when you finish, you’re finished. And you know, in between those short breaths and messy hair, there’s passion. Or there’s nothing. 
J. Raymond

05.12.16

Pretty dresses
Dolls
Smiles and kisses
World of wonder
Luck and fun
Yet there was one between them
The one with broken eyes
And scratches
With a dress -
Not good enough for this occasion
Few tears on cheeks
And quiet dreams
The doll that was never held
There were hopes in her
For misery to end
In tiny pieces she would break
But through all the games
And playful rush
Of her existence noone knew
Silently she stayed
While noone cared
Of a girl
Behind them all
With patches