The Masochist

Why? Why do I hurt myself?

it’s what I live, no, long for,

every day the pain is worse,

but I enjoy it,

It seems there’s nothing wrong,

until blood seeps from the wound,

I feel faint,

but I am enjoying every minute,

There are various tools, weapons,

sharp objects are involved,

things like scissors or knives,

each one brings the sweet pleasure,

The feel of the blade,

as it scratches against my face,

it tears and scars at the skin,

and then all else fades away,

Why do I do this?

is it because I am so dark and twisted?

or because I feel pleasure,

because it hurts so much,

The blood drips down,

but I feel nothing,

nothing but satisfaction,

because I am the Masochist.

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