I feel...

I feel...
uneasy.

There are new plans.
Hints of unpleasantness.
For me at least.
Committed by one,
savored by the other,
amplified,
if not enjoyed,
by me.

I feel...
queasy.

I've been sick for too long, home this weekend instead of up in Brooklyn with a bunch of close friends and two thousand others. Home with my tea and my cats and my soup, slowly getting better, slowly getting stronger and now... getting hoarser. And a little queasy.

Damn.

Enough already!

I need to feel better
so I can feel pain.
So I can feel vulnerable.
So I can feel...
fear.

I already feel fear.

I feel...
aroused.

Hints are dropped
of nasty things
and my pussy weeps
and my womb erupts
and I tell the truth
and my Daddy says

I know, angel.

And now I want my Daddy to hurt me.
And he knows that, too.

He knows me much too well.

And so I will feel...
whatever he wants me to feel.