I am a masochist for your love;
You're all that I wanted to have.

I keep on coming back for more,
I need you, now and forevermore.
Even if all you ever did is hurt me with your actions and words.
Still, I keep on coming back for more.

But now I see, everytime that I'm all covered in blood— and pain is all I feel,
It gives me fuel to burn to keep writing still.
Words rushing inside of me like flood,
For writing in ink— mixed with tears and blood --- Are poems— though they are dark,
are purer than my other works for they're truer than ones constructed based only upon techniques and intelligence...
lacking in substance and feelings.



(A/N): guys, the photo above with the knee is mine--- I have only decided to pout this here as I think it sort of suits the poem but I had injury years ago because I got hit by a taxi cab. (hit and run).