Reversal

It was addicting.
The world drew me-a dark, sensuous spiral downward
Imagine your most forbidden thoughts-
The ones you know you could never tell anyone-
There, not only accepted, they were expected. Demanded.
I knew it was sick…I was sick. That’s what I loved most, I think.
Knowing how wrong it all was.
His hands, His teeth
His touch never blatantly perverse, never lewd
Yet far more sinful than the actual deed
I discovered Power in Fear, and when lust was mixed in….
Irresistible.
"...I took you home
Set you on the glass
I pulled off your wings
Then I laughed…"
He reveled in the sin as he reveled in the taste of my blood.
The razor on his tongue, and then drip that followed-heavy and thick….
His tongue slipping along mine
The metallic taste I came to crave more than anything
The charge of the mixed feelings
"I’ve watched you change
Like you never had wings
And you feel
So alive
I’ve watched you change…."
I became a new creature
And we dwelt in a different world
In dark, dank places. Black so pitch you couldn’t see the hand on your face
Or around your throat
The proof-the marks and bruises, the scars-came in the daylight
So we simply avoided it
There were no rules in the dark, no judgments,
No protection.
No escape.
No salvation.
I slipped further and further until I truly believed I was absorbing another’s life when we drank.
We stalked the desert mountains well past midnight, howled with the cyotes, smiled at the stars.
We defied understanding.
“We proudly feast on those that would subdue us…”
It all almost took my life.
I was happy letting it consume me.
I loved the pain, the steady drip, the throbbing sting, then the warmth of his mouth on the wound, his strong palm cradling my head, the velvet expanse of his back
Taking from me, draining me physically as I drained him psychologically.
He was reduced to his infantile nature. I became a pale, frozen husk.
I loved the pain (given and taken) so much, craved it so much-
That there was no room for anything else.
No love
No hate
No joy
No pain
Emptiness, and the resounding chill.
I was Frozen, lost in my own dark wintry world.
He slipped into madness, eventually, and I lost Faith in all I had ever believed and known as true.
Then I lost control.
He moved on to another, and I lost the ability to puppet him. His strings slipped through my fingers even as I clenched my fist desperately.
The Ice Queen was stripped away and all I had crumbled-I wept, begged, stormed.
Until one fateful night
He held me down
I cried out as he pried me open, calling for salvation I thought beyond me.
And then, my big bad 'Tutor' fled, weeping.
Disgust flooded me.
I laughed about it later, when I realized-
I had been stronger all along, and he knew it.
It was why he chose me.
If he could take me down-what a conquest.
Only to discover the darkness within me ran much, much deeper than he could ever comprehend.
The seed that he had uprooted, the animal he uncaged-was real, heart wrenchingly so.
It almost worked.
Almost.
I laugh about it to this day, and though I may be closer to the Salvation I yearn for-
There’s still that nagging voice in the back of my mind…Always.
The memory of the sweet metallic tang
The hunger that surfaces every time blood rises to the surface of a particularly delicious specimen
The racing of my heart at the feel of a strong pulse beneath my tongue, the harsh pounding of a terrified heartbeat…

Identity

It's a strange thing. Not even-I'd say it's more of an organism, a thing that lives and evolves outside and inside of us-molding who we are, how we act, what we do, tainting our perceptions.
Who was it that said we needed it? This city in particular seems to be obsessed with the import of identity. It's vital-as necessary as air-and yet what I've found more valuable (invaluable even) is the lack of an identity. In a city full of lights and glamor, grime and chrome, where everything is always opening and closing, torn down, built up, re-built and imported. Where the place seems to move like a machine oiled with the blood, sweat and green of it's inhabitants. A city that takes all in-the pure, the sullied, the rich, the poor, the majority and minority-and grinds them into adults or spits them back on to the cold, dirty streets to lick their wounds and drag themselves back home. A city where you can find anything, be anything (and be convinced of anything) it's particularly important to know who you are. But what is that, exactly? A compilation of morals and/or ethics stemming from past challenges and experiences? A code of honor? Won't those then be shaken by the new challenges and experiences that confront you? So you can never really be absolutely certain, and if you are you are constantly aware of it and therefore constantly on edge so as not to shatter the perfect mold you've demanded of yourself.
So what is identity? Is it a creation of your own or one society has foisted upon us? For some, it's a mixture of both. For some, it's ingrained in our upbringing.
I'm going to venture that identity is a comforting illusion. Another way for mankind to control what he will never have control of-the future.
Consumerism would have us believe that by purchasing A, B or C we can create an identity for ourselves. Indeed, what we drape ourselves in is no doubt an expression of ourselves. The Native Americans are a wonderful example. However, so many I see today submit to a group identity, a truly saddening sight. Our country has named it, furthering the perversion. The flocks are now termed 'demographics.' Creativity is reserved for those bold enough or those paid enough. Or those that have created an identity out of their infamy-Jersey Shore, Paris Hilton. Now we must ask ourselves how low we have sunk if we begin to form our identities on such base examples of humanity.
When we are in a relationship our identities begin to mix with too much relation. Too much time breeds irritation and lack of appreciation because you begin to lose your 'identities'. You also begin to notice each others traits in one another, and a mirror affect is only charming for so long. You fall into such comfort that you've forgotten what it was that excited you.
Is that identity then? A routine? The same pattern you carry out every day? I would hope it's not as flimsy as that.
Then you get into 'identifying with someone'. There's an interesting theory. Do you allow another  perception or opinion dictate who you are? What a terrifying concept. No one should have such power over you.
I invite you to imagine your life with out an identity. How amazing would it be to live as a purely instinctual creature? Suppressing nothing, denying yourself nothing, no censure, no societal norms, no labeling yourself or others. Such freedom!
I look in the mirror every day without ever really seeing myself. The other day I caught sight of my reflection. I had been crying, so the expression was uncensored, angry and raw. What I saw made my stomach drop. I realized I had no idea who was looking back at me. This woman's face had lengthened, her skin was pale. She had fire-red hair. The make up made her face look cruel.
I've been asked on shoots before: "Has anyone ever told you-you are an extremely intense person. There are times when you look straight into the lens, and the hair on the back of my neck stands up."
After all that's happened in my life I'd like to think that I came out pretty good. None of my scars are really noticeable. No one expects to hear what they hear when they've grown close enough for the intimate details conversation. Luckily I rarely have to have it.
I have always 'identified' myself as a mature, strong, passionate, sophisticated young matron figure with a healthy ambition and an odd infatuation with intelligent, powerful men usually twice my age. Though I've had the honor of playing both Medea and Lady Macbeth, I've never really put much thought into why those roles came so easily to me. After seeing that reflection, I know now that I've been afraid to. There was something there, something that's been with me for most of my life, something I didn't want to include in my identity. Something that had frightened people away in my youth. Something I've been afraid to recognize because it didn't fit with my finishing school, with my elegant foster mother and her dinner parties and country club and the world I grew accustomed to as a young adult.
I know now that the reason I relished those roles so much was because I could touch those impulses, caress them, breathe life into the actions we never think ourselves capable of. I shared it all without shame and relished the horror on their faces. I danced with the demons that I had imprisoned for so many years.
Sometimes when you cage the beast, the beast gets angry. Unfulfilled wishes and desires swept under the rug for the sake of a carefully constructed identity is a terrible way to live. And when the wave of life comes and sweeps it all away, you're left with empty confusion.
So from this day on I endeavor never to "identify" myself. It has not done me much good so far, and the idea of living with such wild abandon is delicious to me.  either will I attempt to "identify" with another. Why do them the injustice of my ignorant assumptions? How much more could I learn if I took the time to watch and listen as their instincts took over? It's amazing how much people will reveal to you when you shut up for 20 minutes.
This is life. Do you really want to follow a plan the entire time? Must you always know what's coming? Do you really want to live in a carefully constructed box forever?
Remember: A prison is still a prison, even with Peruvian marble and crystal chandeliers.
So set yourself free.