The Wreck And The Wanting.

This is not for the filtered.

It’s not a polite exploration of desire.

It’s not a candlelit fantasy written to make you feel safe.

This is s*x cracked open.

Lust without a leash.

Love when it loses its balance.

Need, when it becomes hunger.

It was never just about f**king.

It’s about the moments before—

The sharp inhale.

The silent stare.

The tension that travels up your spine when someone looks at you

like they’ve already memorized the parts of you you try to hide.

And it’s about the moments after—

The ache.

The absence.

The replays in your head at 2:14 a.m. that don’t ask for your permission.

These poems started as a conversation.

Then they became moments—

Private, dangerous moments I swore I’d keep to myself.

But I’m not good at that kind of silence.

I’m not good at pretending it didn’t matter.

I’m not good at being “cool” about the things that made me spiral, scream, shiver, beg, bloom.

This collection isn’t crafted. It’s confessed.

Real-time flashbacks.

Every line came from something simple—

A stare held too long.

A hand that was too sure.

A breath I didn’t mean to take—but did.

These are timestamps.

You’re not just reading.

You’re there with me.

On the floor. On his lap. Against the door.

In the ruin after.

In the tension before.

I’m someone who wants too much—

Feels everything.

Demands even more.

And I’m not sorry for the damage.

Not mine. Not his.

Because, let’s be honest, he knows.

I know.

We both lowkey crave the kind of connection that doesn’t survive us.

The kind that scars. The kind that breaks things open.

The kind we dream of but don’t dare say out loud—until now.

Because control was always a lie…

Your pulse gives you away every time you pin me down.

Because each thrust feels less like f**king me,

And more like f**king the weakness out of yourself.

Because it’s the only place you let your rage breathe.

The only place your tenderness hides,

Twisted beneath your roughness.

Because you crave the tremor in my thighs just before I break.

Because after everything…

You still don’t know whether you’re trying to save me,

Or see if you can finally destroy me.

Because the madness doesn’t scare you—it soothes you.

Because the growl in your chest isn’t rage at me,

It’s relief that I let you lose yourself without apology.

Because my gasp isn’t weakness to you—

It’s permission.

The shudder in my thighs, the whimper caught in my teeth—

They don’t make you merciful.

They make you ruthless.

Because when you see me bruise under your grip,

It calms the riot in your head.

Because every thrust isn’t just deeper into me,

It’s deeper into your own dark, sacred place,

Where nothing exists but need you and me

Because the rest of your life is compromise and masks.

But here—c*ck buried to the hilt,

Sweat dripping onto my spine—

You finally breathe real air.

Air that smells of s*x, salt, fear, and worship.

Because nothing matters except the moment your hips

Slam into mine so hard the headboard cracks—

And for one perfect breath,

You feel infinite,

Shameless,

F**king alive.

because you love how I don’t

kneel in fear, I kneel in choice.

Because you know that letting me

close enough to ruin you is the

only way you feel truly alive.

F**k me …

not just here, not just like this.

F**k me with your words at

midnight and your smile at dawn.

F**k me with the weight of your

stare across a crowded room, when

no one else knows what you’re

thinking but I do

because you’re still trying to

decide if you want to own me

or worship me.

And we both know you’ll end up

doing both.

F**k me

because you love power, but you

hate how cold it feels at night.

Because you’ve f**cked pretty faces

that smiled and obeyed but I make

you want to snarl, to bruise, to

confess.

To be continued…….