I´m ripping my lips and fingertips
it hurts to speak or touch
It hurts (like hell, you would say) anyway
and I can´t stop
Blood is no excuse
More it hurts,
better it gets
Scars won´t go away, but
that´s how they are meant to be
It hurts to kiss or hold you
Your sweat makes my cry
So I love the pain in my hands
Come, please come
It´s sick and guilty pleasure
Skinflakes flowing in the air
Another poem inspired by Bex. She wrote "Freedom Cocaine", I wrote this.
It's an honour to see that I inspire you so, and indeed I can identify myself with this. I love how the first line goes. And indeed it is true - we plague ourselves because there is a sort of sick pleasure in it, isn't it? ^^
ReplyDeleteit´s really sick pleasure. and nobody, who haven´t tried it, can´t understand it. but that´s how it is, it feels good. well, maybe not next day. it´s like having a hangover really, because every single finger is so in pain and I can´t do pretty much anything with them. even writing hurts. that´s the only time I can regret it.
ReplyDeleteand still, every night I start again. and I can´t stop.