Paint a vulgar picture.

Faceless and unknown, she creeps across the dark room. She lies down upon the bed made of roses and drinks the wine made of blood. Sympathy. It's this she has wanted, and she always gets what. You are powerless, your efforts are futile as you fall victim to her seductive charm (and powerful legs). You find yourself wanting to run, yet at the same time you are confused; the decision to take what she offers or to flee that which she offers, is a decision which will plague your conscious for the rest of your days. On one hand, you are nearly being raped. You are powerless, and she has the control-- which is what it's all about anyways. Yet on the other hand, you can't rape the willing. What is that that one shall choose, as this black widow of a woman struts her stuff, making her way towards you ever so violently as your heart beats through your chest? You feel a rush more powerful than 1000 orgasm's magnified by 100, and find yourself in a cold sweat while she will cut of you and take of you what she will. She takes your heart, and everything else you've got. She will consume you with delight and move on to her next victim. She will commit these acts in the dead of night, lest you find out what it is that she truly does; her true nature. In any case, she will do what most women will do to men: eat your heart and drink your soul, and then toss you to the side. You are faceless, you are unknown. In fact, she doesn't think about you anymore. Her hands now caress the body of another man, another number, a nameless person in the abundant sea of men she has had her way with. She knows what she wants , and manipulates her prey so cleverly that one cannot help but fall victim to her. This is true. Everybody knows it is true. You know this is true, also; and there is nothing you can do to help the situation. Yet it is something one fails to admit to even themselves. Let us wander on in our own personal darkness, in the shadows of the ones we once loved. Let us wander on in solitude, looking for the same thrill we once had with our former lovers. Let us wander on, and aimlessly search for that original rush. More sweeter than heroin, and cheaper than it too; but equally harmful on a person's psyche.

Marx once said, "Religion is the Opium of the masses". For everyone else, there is love. If Marx was right, then love must be the heroin of the masses. It intoxicates us like nothing else could. It clouds our judgement more than any filthy combination of chemicals one can put into the human body. To add to it's dangerous nature, it's flaunted everywhere; on television, in movies, in magazines, in newspapers, in glossy ads where women are air-brushed to perfection; the perfect female image which every young girl strives to be.

She strives to be the perfect woman, who does the very best she can. To care, to love, to honor, to obey, to fuck her faceless man. And while he is out cruising the high streets in his endless search for cunt, she has already began her process of sucking you in, sucking you off, sucking you dry, and leaving you. This is true. I know this is true. You know this is true also.

A woman's heart is made of stone, while my heart is made of glass. A pretty porcelin doll made right and fit for just one. Only one. I like you, I love you, I will marry you, It's not working, I'm fucking the postman, I'm leaving you but not before I take your money. Her words are mere cacaphony; A symphony of vulgarity fit for my ears only. C'est la vie, but not for me.

lol, wtf?

This is deep.

This is deep-er.

yeah wtf

Excellent writing

A bit depressing in your message, but then again isn't most of what it is deep and true?

Good descriptive writing... conveys emotion and symbolism... and I'm going to go out on a limb and say you need to get layed and move on from this failed relationship.

Empire--

Thanks for your comments. They're much appreciated. I've been trying to develop my own style of writing, a style which i feel is blatantly honest. It's not supposed to bring you up. It's supposed to convey a message, so profoundly that you will understand it's meaning when you are finished reading it. Like you said, it's a bit depressing. This is the intended effect. I've modeled this off of the rhetorical style, if you know what I mean by that. It's supposed to paint a picture of what is happening--of what I am seeing in my mind--or more importantly, of what I am feeling.

The book Le Maitre de Chasse inspired me in developing this piece of writing. Mohammad Dib wrote this book in French, and he has a very good way at describing what is happening. It was a treat to read this novel in the original French. Even though I didn't understand everything, I still got the message.

Gray Matter, thanks as well for your compliments and speculation. Bad news: I really DO need to get laid :( Good news: It should happen in the near future! Horray for smoking cannabis with girls who haven't had sex in as long as I have!!!!! yay.:D

So sex is the drug in play. A powerful drug that is. Don't get laid and keep writing, and you'll write brilliantly.

I have a suggestion for you. Only a vague suggestion . . . I would take what you have . . . the feeling, the writing, the mood, and the message . . . and write it into a short story. Add some short semblance of plot, changing yourself and a supposed "woman" into two characters. You could have a winner on your hands.

I love the title too

Holy fuck! Excellent writing skills, man! :thumbsup:

Much of this rings true, but I'd avoid grouping 'all' woman, bro. (Or did I mis-read?) I think some are actually pretty damn wonderful! Matter of fact, I 'know' it. ;)

Still, a very thought provoking piece, and very true for more than many....

The world is full of 'vampires' like that,