I am a masochist in more ways the one
I bet if I could I would burn myself with the sun.
My broken soul is filled with inward rage
that cuts me in actions I will always engage.
my worst impulses, how do I resist them?
First they will briefly save me, then they condemn,
if this was a lover, one which I held in my heart,
I would have prevented this madness before it could start.
But I have no love for me
No way out of this labyrinth I can see.
So I think I’ll continue in the 5th circle of hell
Doing the only thing I could possible excel,
But inside my failing brain, there’s only hate
a sicking posion, that tells me its my fate.
The drugs and hollow sex are my only cure
for a second away from my tragic lore,
maybe there is another medicine to take away my pain,
one that won’t rot itself inside my brain.
But I am a masochist in more ways than one,
and I fear soon I will die in the sun.
Love is for the idle dreamers,
they covet it like a pirate,
alone at the sea for years
searching for the most golden treasure in all of the seven seas.
But me you see, I’m different.
What I want is far from the fairytales I was raised on,
the ones that inhabited my veins and brain for years on end.
It’s not something for those epic love songs,
or love stories in orgasmic movies that make loveless teenagers girls swoon.
I want a lover to drink with, in the moments before the broken hour,
someone to dance with in the bottom of midnight,
I don’t need to feel like the only one,
to receive flowers at my door the very next day,
to belong to some grand idea of sweeping beauty and ideals of a time gone by.
I met a boy, in a dusk of delightful desire,
and come across me was a feeling of peace
when is eyes placed themselves on my fault-full face,
but I won’t kiss him with devotion,
I won’t hold him close to my chest and speak in magnificent epigrams,
all I desire in my born broken heart
is for him never to close enough,
to see the girl crying,
to see the child still holding on to roses left at her door
and take me dancing.