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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).
