Addicted to Pain

I am just a freckle on the skin,
A piece of fragment,
A dust in the wind.

Who am I to come and ruin your perfect little life?
Who am I to break your door and wake you up at five?
Who am I to deceive you with all of my lies?
Who am I to cry on your shoulders and make you feel unsafe?

The thing about me is that I always have these layers,
Layers that you might not be able to unfold,
Layers that you might find hard to comprehend,
Layers that you might drive you insane.

The thing about me is that I am happy to be unhappy,
That I am satisfied to be devastated,
That I am craving for being miserable in misery,
That I am longing for being wrecked.

The thing about me is that I am addicted to pain,
That I am subjugated to affliction,
That I am subjected to suffering,
That I am attached to excruciation.

And the thing about you is that you are the one who could give it all.
And you know it.
You know it all too well.

I am the monster.
And you are the beast.



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