I want you to paint me,
and leave your mark.
Use my skin as your canvas,
Make me your work of art.

I want you to draw on me,
make me your personal sketch.
Using implements as pencils,
With each mark that you etch.

I want you to colour me,
in your signature shade.
Rosey pink with crimson red,
Then bid it not to fade.

I want you to hurt me,
as only you can do.
Make me pay for your misfortunes,
Tell me i deserve it too.

I want you to punish me,
show me you’re not weak.
Dispose of your bad luck,
Make my pain your winning streak.

I don’t know how to love you,
if you don’t hurt me too.
I don’t know how to treat you.
I will end up hurting you!

My soul was scorched.
Excavated of the soft and tender leaving the bitter and dismal.
Days after this grand liquidation sale with my gutted contents crumpled up in the remains of used tissues my ashen lips were clamoring for you, the boy who set the fire.
I had skinned myself of your touch, each day nurturing the tenderness back into my cheeks. Seeded under my renewing flesh was the devil of animosity begging me to hold on to a fragment of you.
My healing process is fueled by the grueling fire of disdain.
Even with your presence gone I seek you to be the platform of my existence
The ember of softness and genuine essence weeps inside of me, if only I spent those days searching my hollowed body for the fire simply waiting to ignite inside myself.
I realize now how repulsing and selfish I am, you pour so much into someone so they are pooling at the brim, but if that burning ember inside of them isn't properly tended and respected, their kettle will never brew.
I am sorry I couldn't have coaxed your ember
I am so sorry it had to be you