Blame.

You took everything from me that night.

And now, I need to be held down and torn open.

And now, I need to be beaten and broken.

I need to lose my breath, lose my sight.

I have no need or want for control any more.

I need to submit to ultraviolence, to get closer to the sweetest release.

You've made me sick; dark, twisted. This craving for suffering is like a disease.

And now, I am craving dull aches, blue bruises and cuffs on my wrists, with my face pushed down into the floor.

And now, I need teeth in my skin, hands marking my neck under a tight grip, I need to be made feel that I'm as low as an animal.

I need to find some kind of God, I can't keep myself open, exposed to this kind of hurt.

I will end up dead and buried, have a gravestone with no name, I'm all but buried six feet underneath the shallow dirt.

Even so, you will still hear me howling, craving torture, like flesh to a cannibal.