Pleasures of Pain
Fools in love
share the same,
sentiment as one
who’s stimulated by pain.
I’m a hopeless romantic,
a full blow addict;
with a craving for love no
matter what it takes to have it.
Can’t get enough, this rush
this touch; conceited attractions,
cutting myself deeper
Modified emotions are
sold for a cheap price;
gaining scars while gambling
love with fixed dice.
I woke without you by my side.
Yearning for you…only you…
like oceans falling short of sunlight.
My sorrows are
sort of like eclipsed distress.
Yet fulfilling, I mesh pain with
pleasure and daggers to flesh.
…I want for this forever…
CUTTING AND SELF HARM HELPLINE
She hates that it’s suitable for men
to sex whomever they choose;
saluted, yet not often judged,
they always seem to get excused.
When women adore sex
they claim she’s being too loose;
but there’s this fear of commitment
because her heart’s been abused.
This monster labeled love has
resulted in scorn, hurt and envy;
with no formula for damaged hearts,
so often, the sex would heal injury.
Why does it matter is she’s more
sexual than others appear to be
committed to sex without this love thing,
doesn’t define her wholeheartedly.
It’s just something of a man,
his tone, his scent, his masculinity;
the way he growls during sex
but holds her closely as she sleeps.
Is it of a whore to find an
assortment of men attractive;
or to wonder what they
would all individually have to offer?
We’re only being human to desire
that which is confidential, but…
how does acting on such thoughts
imply she’s too experimental?