I'm tired of all the melodrama;
The misery in me.
The dreadful adoration
Of the blood I like to see.
I can say all I want
That I simply crave happiness;
That all I need is love.
But there's that toxic part of me,
With the dark side it is dreaming of.
The dark side of the fantasy.
The way it likes to feel
A little broken;
Down and out.
Some subconscious *** appeal.
For one split second I love the fact
That you hurt me till I cried.
That sick sliver of myself,
That has never, ever died.
The infatuation with misery.
The martyrdom within.
I am sick and twisted, I am
Caressing Horror's skin.
I'm ****** her and beating her,
And loving the sounds she makes.
I'm no child.
There is no god.
And I am just a fake.