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I heard her shout…

I have a real life.  I am real. Living breathing feeling thinking.

You fill my mind and my time.

I wonder what you do and what you want.

A furrowed brow and twisted mouth betray your concentration and thoughts of others.

The previous, the ones before, the ones who got away, the ones who fell away, the ones who wouldn’t stay.

This one was pretty, this one was hot, this one was crazy; now you are all I have got.

I share you around,

my toy in which to play.

A place where rules are non rules, limits are limitless and greed is good.

Politeness, coyness and togetherness are weak, boring and human…mere human.

You want more, demand more, expect more and why the hell not.

It is what you have always done, always will, nothing will never ever be enough.

I love your hunger, I love your pain, I love your craving and we go round again.

Too much too soon, not enough too little.

Rubbing hard, scrubbing away until we become brittle.

Then back to the softness, the weak, the innocent.

The fluff and the fancy, vulnerable magnificent.

I hate you, I love you, I forget sometimes

That you, are where darkness lies

Your heart is black, your soul scratched

A devil you are, but what a catch

You play at submission, you play at being nice

I beat you, your feigned compliance is to entice

I see what you do, I know you too well

We pretend that we are both under the spell

Sometimes you nearly crack and I see the real man

The little boy, lost and all alone

A spoilt brat maybe, not enough love shown

Or maybe you are, what I always expected you to be

Nothing more than a filthy pervert, like me

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About Prim Quim

I am an artist and therapist. I work within the themes of sexuality, repression, guilt, greed, contradiction, objectification, compulsion, itches that need to be scratched and bruises that need to be pressed. I am a consentual bruise presser, a boundary straddler and limit pusher. I interview people and witness their lives, I write about what I see, how I feel and all the beautiful fragments that make up my reality. I am the sum of all my parts - some bits move and other parts are static, some bits need oiling and other bits just run and run. I am both subject and object to myself. I am slave to my Art and so are the others who come into my sphere. I objectify and use, interrogate and examine - I need their reality and reasoning to lay alongside my own to compare, contrast, season and gorge upon. Exponent of automatic writing, compulsive self realisation and daring myself to go further.

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