masochist

I hear talk of fathers leaving mistakes out to dry
sending nightmares to their sons
like so many perverted sandmen crushing dreams
and snorting them for fun,
but what of the daughters
and is self-defection considered a sin

I would swallow you whole even though I know
I don't posses the constitution to digest you
I'll have to purge this mess that you make me
but I always did enjoy the poison therein
and all the things that pull me down to small deaths

defeat like discomfort brings its own kind of pleasure
to a masochist whose addicted to emotion
found floundering in a state of cessation
face frozen because when I'm brittle creases turn into cracks
and the whole thing can fall off leaving words wandering
left wondering how much sorrow they made
how heavy they weighed
or if it was mostly bought and borrowed

a storage unit of self abuse or pity or pain
sells cheap on a cold day like today
when you can pull up your hood
and pretend that it's not because you prefer to hide

theres no blood as black as that which beats
from a lived in lie
even if it was the white kind
packaged in paper printed with
self-preservation.