I have a terrible habit of
Hanging on to the past,
Usually the sad stories
Those really really last.
I like to bring up the bodies and
Feel the ashes between my toes,
Caress the skulls of Tragedy
And remember all my woes.
I've asked myself time after time
Why I love all this misfortune,
I crave the pain, the hurt, the loss,
So very much.

*The pain feeds my soul.