Face of a child with legs like a woman

My baby says he’s got an evil in him and he sees it in me too. He says, “Look at me. Do you understand what I’m saying?”
I say, “Yes. A bad seed isn’t always a bad person.”
“We’ve got the darkness in us. It’s not a joke. It’s real.”
“We’ve still got goodness even though we’ve got the evil.”
“Exactly.”

Except his evil pumps through his veins and mine goes in and comes out my mouth. We lay in bed. He says the same thing, “Look at me. Do you understand what I am saying?” It reverts me back to a childlike state. I don’t say yes, I just look him in the eye and nod, solemn like. And he tells me my duality of nature extends to my body. That my face has a false innocence to it. That my features are childlike but my legs are that of a woman and my bruises make him think dirty things. He makes me do dirty things.

Fucking hell.

I wish I could find that serenity which lies in my expression but not in my soul. The purity he says he hears in my giggles and sees in my face. “I’m not pure.”
“No, you’re not. But your beauty is. Your giggles are.”

Far from pure. Dude thinks he has the devil in him. Why is it that hearing someone believes in god is scarier than hearing he’s got a head for dope? Even though every time he can’t fuck me I worry it’s because he’s done drugs. I have a feeling I am probably right.

In a few days people will start getting concerned I am sure, but then I’ll be gone and then I’ll be back and then I’ll be scared. I am terrified to move. I’ve lived here for 2 ½ years but that’s another story, another stress, another fear. Still having him in this room made me feel all the more attached to it. Very few lovers have entered its walls. It’s my sanctuary. I can’t imagine moving somewhere with normal ceilings. Id feel choked, squashed, cornered. At least here I can look upwards and breathe. I can stretch my soul fifteen feet to the ceiling and still have room to spread my arms.