Beautiful Contradiction There’s you, but there’s the other you. There’
Beautiful Contradiction There’s you, but there’s the other you. There’s the innocent part, the one that just wants to please, that has giddy little attacks of adorable excitement and makes sure everything is done and ready, that you’re a good little girl. And there’s the other part, the flipside, your dark passenger, if you want to get all melodramatic and rife with pop culture references. That’s the part that makes you moan in the night, grind your rear into my crotch, and generally beg me to do all those deliciously perverted things you like. They collide, more often than not. One merges into the other like oil paints, a great big smear of psyche that creates a swirl of pretty colours and a beautiful mess. Your eagerness is innocent, and your tongue is not. Your beauty is pure, but the way your mascara drips down your face is just about as fucked up as they come. You’re a contradiction of terms, a whirlwind of conflict that somehow doesn’t spin out and dissipate. And at the point where innocent and corrupt meet, I’m there, sitting in the eye of the storm like a composer Machiavelli, one arm lackadaisically steering you this way and that. Nothing about you makes sense, little girl, but everything about this, the pain and the pleasure, the beauty and the dark, all of that is perfectly clear. -- source link
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