The Solo Sadomasochist

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I think it is Sunday, or Monday, or Christmas day; I’m not sure
anymore, my head is swimming and I feel as weak as water. I can’t stop
thinking about water but thoughts don’t feed my thirst, they just
aggravate it and I feel like a rabid dog in a cage.

This is the longest I have ever been bound and gagged and I know
I’ve exceeded any notion of a safety zone. They say you should always be
careful what you wish for because it might come true. The words wade
round and round in my head but I am too weak to remember why
by the time the thought is finished.

And so here I hang, my soul suspended between this life
and the next, neither offering much comfort at the moment.

I long for a safeword that would release me, one magic utterance that
would unlock my bondage. My mind becomes obsessed and when I see the
fly land nearby I desperately whisper to it over and over again,
“ Red, red, red…”, but it does not understand the universal concepts
of bondage and I am still here, trapped by my own obsession.

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