Being Abusive

The devil provides carnage with cut-off hands; rotten flesh for me to tear apart; my nimble fingers caress the blood socked hearts.

Yet not always successful, I sometimes find myself in a hidden daze; feet lying at the bottom of the ocean floor, waiting to be swept away. Grey rays touch my fingertips as the urge subsides for the day.

A sensation I only feel in ultimate arousal; lashed out limbs crumble as they dare to my to howl; I desire death before I let this destruction go to waste; I hope to hold the universe by its throat; to coax it with burning rum as I slide down my tongue for fun.

With nothing left to give, I relax at the feet of the fallen; my breath is full, my eyes finally close, and for a moment, just that one, I let it all go.

Sometimes, however, my madness is stopped; sometimes, the world screams back louder than I expect; it drowns me in my sorrows, filling the ocean floor; with broken arms and death desperately held tight, I wonder the point of life.