corrina page is a fictional character made up entirely in my imagination. any resemblance to real people, places, and/or things is completely coincidental and should be taken as such.
WARNING: The following may contain adult oriented material.
jan 00 | nov 99 | oct 99 | sep 99 | aug 99 | jul 99 | oct 98 | aug 96 | jul 96 | may-jun 96
with open arms and a smiling countenance i embrace you, awaiting the moment when
i can plunge my canines into the soft flesh of your throat and initiate you into my world...
feb. 18, 2003
hey, let's prowl strip clubs together. shove dollar bills down the g-strings of whores. dance drunk on rickety tables and pray we don't tip them over. better yet, come dance for me - i'd shove plenty of dough down your pants. and you wouldn't even have to do anything but sit there looking cute and wiggle your ass.
feb. 16, 2003
she covered me with down and kissed me good night, tucking in loose ends, whispering prayers...
she cut me out of paper and blew me into life. she held the scissors near my neck in case i put up a fight. she covered me in clothes cut out of colored paper: polka dotted skirts, yellow blouses with puffy sleeves. in the 80's i wore paper shoulder pads beneath all my jackets and leggings you could almost see my crotch through (though paper girl that i was, i had no camel toe). in the 90's she cut me clothes only in black paper, made my hair long and straight. boots in black, green, and brown. i asked for oxblood, but she refused.
for play she cut me pale green scrubs, a stethoscope around my neck. i wasn't a nurse; i held a surgeon's scalpel in my hands - cut neatly and painstakingly out of white and grey paper. sometimes i wore black robes, a tiny hammer in my hands pounding on a brown desk, a courtroom backdrop. sometimes i sat in a desk in some hidden room in a paper replica of the white house, including a tiny white and brown dog running around the lawn. i wrote copious amounts of notes on small college ruled paper. i earned massive amounts of money, piled into a paper bank. i drove a fast car - sometimes red, sometimes black, once in a while yellow like the sun.
i woke up one morning and she forgot to put the scissors to my neck. she'd forgotten her fear that i might fight, but she still gripped my hand tight. i tore my hand off and ran - as fast as my paper legs could take me. the paper lace on my paper panties tore off, chafed my inner thighs. i got out onto the street tearing off my panties and my night shirt with my one hand as i ran. i tore off chunks of my long, black hair til it was shorn uneven on top of my head. i covered myself in grass, made a new, bigger thumb out of bark, and hitched a ride to another town, another place, another world, another me...i cut a new me out of paper, and burned the old me down. i mailed her the ashes in a paper envelope - flesh colored and red speckled - with a lipstick kiss. i knew she'd want me back.
feb. 15, 2003
somewhere beneath, i can hear her breath - she breathes with no small labor. congestion and pain - i can almost imagine the bubbles in her throat. she's someone else's girl, trapped under the surface. i thought i'd help her out, but now i'm stuck, too, leg caught in something like a vice (or do i just imagine it's a vice?) - it could just be dirt. i wish she'd breathe on my foot so it could stay warm, but that hardly seems important, just a thought to chase all the others out.
i imagine her stuck here until she's grown up, becomes an adult - though when exactly is adulthood? - stuck under my foot, long rotten and black by then i'm sure. she curls her hair into a fashionable style, combs down the flyaways, brushes off her clothes, though they're eternally covered in dirt. the cameramen take their pictures of her and put her in the papers. she goes to dances, meets boys, loses her virginity, all from the confines of her hole, her home, her eternal and inescapable plot. all while i watch like a distant observer, though i'm physically so close. i live my life vicariously through her, though we're both trapped in the same dirt. why hasn't anyone rescued us?
it takes me years to realize all i had to do was pull my foot away. all this time i thought it was caught, but i think i'd always known it wasn't. i wanted to watch her grow, i wanted to live her life, but knew i couldn't so i just watched and pretended and let her live for me. they'll never take her out of there. she's become too valuable. human interest in her has sky rocketed. she couldn't possibly have any other life. me - they could care less about me. i will disappear one day and no one will know. one day, i'll go back to my own path, my own life, and leave hers far behind.
feb. 06, 2003
that sure was a purdy shirt you had on today, dear. i've been reading too much and thinking 'bout my thumbs. big as cactuses and bright as moons. think of all the orifices i could stuff them in...mmmm. a replacement for a cock when i can't find one. course, you'll always be 'round, won't you, honey?
riding on a big fat cruiser through back country with a cowboy hat bigger than texas. i've always been a cowgirl, just had me no cow. hard to find a decent cow nowadays. i want one with a big fat tum, and a heart and brains just as big. i know cows are known to be stupid, but not all of 'em are. trust me, i know.
grassy fields, and clear blue lakes. green stains on my knees, and back drenched with sweat, arms red as cherries, face pale white. sun beating down on every surface of the earth. sometimes reward, sometimes punishment. black leather across your throat, stetson on your head, and me at your side. we'll have fifty cows, and keep breeding more.
feb. 02, 2003
you beckoned me? yes, let me come over and sit on your lap. you tell me a story this time. i'll tell you what presents i want and you can tell me if i've been good or bad. yes, i know that christmas is a long time away, but you'll be my santa all year long, won't you, dear?
you stare at me funny like i'm speaking in tongues, but i'm humming your favorite tune. one i don't even know. except the words are stuck in my head and the tune plays over and over in my throat, stuck there like a record player with a static needle. i sit at my desk and code for you all day, zoned out on the color of your skin. so...what's the word to describe that color? i don't know cause i'm not good with makeup and skintones and other girl-like things. sometimes i think i should've been born a boy, but then i wouldn't have a cunt or soft skin for you to touch. and what would i be then?
jan. 31, 2003
a heavy weight - his body on top of mine. flesh soft and thick. his eyes are closed and his lips parted and i'm drawing circles on his scalp with my fingers. and humming some disney tune i can't get out of my head. he shushes me and tells me he's concentrating. i tell him i won't be able to support his weight for much longer. he says, just one...more...minute...then he's done.
i don't know what he's doing - some sort of physical ritual for his muscles. he says he likes to do it with me cause i'm his smallest friend and it makes it harder for him to not crush me. he wishes i'd do it naked, but i figure bra and panties are close enough to naked. besides, he never takes his boxers off. sometimes i can feel his cock on my thigh and it kind of turns me on, but he's oblivious to it. sometimes i wish he'd let his full weight fall on me, but again, he's oblivious of my desires. he has no clue.
jan. 18, 2003
you made me chase her down. i grabbed your coat before i ran and threw it on her like a net. like trapping wild game. it's exactly what she was. she thrashed about, trying to rip the coat off her head, but i put my hands on her bare shoulders and pushed her into the ground, and she relented. because my hands were soft. because my nails were clean. because i put my knee up between her legs.
then we were wrestling. or more like rolling in the street. forget the trash. forget the moisture (from god knows what). forget the shards of glass and old cigarette butts. we pretended it was all grass, and i grabbed the coat and ducked under it, too, and i knew you were walking towards us and could see us huddled together under your big coat, but you couldn't see what we were doing to each other underneath it.
jan. 16, 2003
dark alleys and the smell of urine. that's what she reminded me of. you stood next to me and stared; your eyes round and almost black. she wore skin tight leather pants and carried a pistol on her hip. she was the sexiest thing i'd seen in a while. feral and wild. her back up against the wall. broken glass all over the alley and her in her bare feet. where were her fucking shoes?
like a gentleman (always a gentleman even when you shouldn't be), you offer her your coat. but she doesn't really need it - she needs your socks more than anything else, but you're not going to give those up - not yet anyway. in a minute she could probably get you to give her anything she wanted, but not yet. she hasn't even opened her mouth yet. her shoulders are exposed in the tiny little tank top she's wearing, but she's not cold and she refuses your offer with a slight shake of her head, shimmying her long red hair over each shoulder. she's pale skinned and wide eyed like a soft little animal, but she smells like a fighter and stands like one, too.
we step back a little to give her room - in case she wants to make a break for it, we don't want to get knocked down. i throw your coat on the ground so she can walk across it towards me and she comes, like she's beckoned. i want to lift her up, to feel her gun pressed against my side like it's her cock, but she's too tall for me. you could do it easily enough, but the thought hasn't crossed your mind yet and when it does it'll be too late and she's gone off running down the street with only a secondary glance back at me, catching my eye, but it's all i need to fall in love.
jan. 14, 2003
let me twist my stories around you. like the vines growing wild in your yard. or christmas tinsel on the tree. little silver bells tinkling against your skin whenever you move. my tongue'll work its way into your ear; my voice'll be stuck inside your head. you won't forget me, will you? i wouldn't let you, dear.
tell me what you want to hear and i'll make a little rhyme, or a song, or a wickedly long short story. and while i write it you can think about my hands on your thighs, my lips on your fingers, the smell of me in your clothes like day old perfume. i smell better than any fragrance you can buy over the counter, and taste better, too. you can't buy a girl like me, but i'll sell you this song for a dollar or two. and maybe you'll feel like you own me. for a little while.
jan. 13, 2003
if you lay your head on my chest while i tell you stories, you can feel my ribcage vibrate. let me tell you all the deep, dark disgusting things i fantasize about. it'll get me wet and you hard and then we'll fuck til the sun comes up and we both need to get to work.
let's listen to music that's supposed to rot our hearts and dance naked on the bed. it'll scare the cat and the neighbors, but only if we scream while we're doing it. let's shake the walls and yell profanities into the heater. my neighbors do it all the time, but they've never heard us doing it.
i promise i'll lick your back and brush your hair if you'll entertain me. i promise not to tell you my most disturbing fantasies - just the mildly perverse ones. i won't make you jump on the bed if you don't want to, but you still have to scream. i'll give you warm tea to soothe your throat afterwards. and a nice warm bath in the tub to wash the dust away.
jan. 12, 2003
i saw a picture of him today and he's a different man and i'm a different woman. i don't remember ever being so small and young; i've been here for so long. you run circles around my head and i get dizzy watching you go by. and he drifts away like so much smoke. or dust.
i want to be self sufficient, but i keep remembering i need to eat. did you remember to close the door to the room with all the corpses? i can smell the faintest whiff of them in the air - i know how much you hate it, but you can't help but peek in the door. mortality creeps up on you; you forget it was always there. but it doesn't actually creep up on you - you're stepping back into its arms. wrap them close and close your eyes. and dream of me tonight.
jan. 11, 2003
do me a favor and twist open this cap. i can't get my fingers around the lip. then kiss me and wish me good night. the moon is just a little slip peering into our window. you want me to say something about it, but i don't really care.
i splattered blood on the bathroom mirror. i didn't mean to, but i cut too deep. you told me you were sick and i believed you. i made you soup to nourish you and cut you bread to feed you. you dipped it in your wine and dripped it on the covers. my arm was still bandaged and leaking red...you licked my elbow and said i tasted good. i licked your neck and you tasted metallic. blood dried and hard like a scab...
jan. 06, 2003
i opened my mouth and spilled liquid down my front. silver like mercury, hot as hell, burning the tip of my tongue. you listened gravely, but all you heard was the sizzling of my blouse and you watched it evaporate into thin air.
i covered my breasts and smiled a silly smile - embarrassed about the mess (and perhaps my nakedness). you politely looked away, but not without laughing at me first. i continued my story (with only the slightest lisp) and you listened to it with all your heart.
jan. 02, 2003
the new year. it rides in cold and wet on the back of my horse - i haven't seen her in ages; i didn't know she knew the year. but she does and she brings with her not only the new year, but you in tow, holding her reigns and leaning on her neck, your breath like fog in the chill air. gifts, both, for me.
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this file was last updated 02/19/03, 01:44 am