There is something beautiful about two sad people who agree to hurt each other.
Something comforting.
It is a comfort only very damaged people understand- the tacit agreement to cause pain, and to receive it.
Pleasure is for people who have what they want.
But for those of us who are starving, ours is best peppered with suffering.
Being with someone who understands that carries its own worth-
I don't want you to make me feel good.
I couldn't stand it if you did.
I don't want you to touch me gently, or ask if I'm alright, or stop to look into my eyes.
I am starving, and so are you: I want your teeth.
I want you to make me hurt. And I want to hurt you.
I want you to hurt me because I'm not him, and I want to hurt you because you're not her.
We want to see each other suffer because we are starving and we need to feel that someone else is.
Don't hold back. I want you to lower me because I'm too good for her.
Don't love me, don't caress me. Dig your nails in. Drip candlewax on my stomach.
One step down from torture is all I can stand in the way of human connection, when it isn't her.
Punish me for looking at her like a baleful puppy tonight, even as you waited in my room with your soft skin and your sharp teeth.
There is nothing you can do that will be too violent, too brutal, too sadistic.
I don't want to be loved right now.
I am too raw.
I want to be touched. I want to be ruined. Leave marks. Smear lipstick.
Lower me because I am
Too
****
Good for her.
Let this heart know on no uncertain terms that its needs don't matter.
Help me **** it. Help me pin my demons to the bed and make them writhe, and I will do the same for you.
Let's exorcise our loves tonight and banish them to hell.
Let's tell our skin that it is irrelevant.
Let's say "*******" to the things that bind us. I will cut your heart out for him.
I will kiss your scars, not to heal them but to remind you that when you put them there you fought for something, something we both fight for now.
Hurt me. Fight her. Do it for her.
Do it for her because I'm not good enough to hurt.
Do it for her because I'm TOO good to hurt.
Crush me.
You could boil me alive and it wouldn't make up for her, so at least leave me bruised.  
I will give you what you need, and you will give me what I need: not love, but contact.
Please,
Let my heart know on no uncertain terms that its needs
Don't
Matter.

There is something beautiful about two sad people who agree to hurt each other.

the wind carries me to an island
floating through my memories
I’ve glided through the past
my heart is yearning to go back
to summer roast duck
in the Swedish city,
not far from the train
that takes us back home
or the ferry to Bornholm
the island my heart desires
freedom on a bike
rolling hills to my right,
filled with fields of wild lavender
as well as the aimless lone windmill
to my left, with my arms spread wide
my head tilted back
coasting down the hill,
is the vast expanse of the ocean
the blue that meets the clear skyline
the air is hot and sticky
yet the sun beams leaving a hot burn
I can feel this day,
if I just shut my eyes
as if I were on the island
which was not far from home
when the ferry took us back
Home, where the people are themselves
where they depend on each other
their culture unites them
in a city I fell in love with
in a way I’ve never loved before
Copenhagen

I love you like I can never love another

You stuck a knife in my heart
as you walked away, one final time
and you twisted the blade,
when you never looked back

There’s a reason everyone loves autumn
As the leaves change so do we
Turning into our true colors
Where once we were all green
Inner beauty is brought fourth
There is a metamorphosis
From blending in, to standing out
Our differences are celebrated

We may start out the same
But that won’t stop the change
The transformation we all go through,
Our inner selves cannot be detained
It’s always been there waiting,
Wanting to shine through
One of the few guarantees life gives us,
That change comes and leaves turn

You are not the needle sticking out of my arm as I nod off silently
You are not the pipe lying in my lap as my body starts shaking violently
You are not the pill case resting by my side as I fade away on the floor quietly
You are not the bottle in my hand as I slam my car into a van filled with a family

You are the substance shooting through my veins, relieving me of all my pain
You are the smoke soaking my lungs, bringing me to a mystic plane
You are the powdered capsules floating in my stomach, promising to take me far away
You are the alcohol mixed into my blood, granting me courage to not care for this place