it's true really
that we love the things that hurt us
we love the man who lays his hands on us
we love every bruise
we love the racing high
that swallows our entire bodies in the night
we love the glass that leaves us
with red streams of broken dreams
and scars that we pray will fade
next to the ones he had already left
we love all the things that could **** us
perhaps
it's because we all want out
but cowards don't do it themselves
they fall in love with the monsters that will
do it for them