Beautiful Torture

Love is a beautiful torture.

Some artwork displayed on walls, on arms,

Ugly scars; scarlet, crimson, blue.

Her voice is an endless buzzing,

Her fingernails; needles, 

Anguish yet pleasure.

I crave the sensation!

Her hands paint my flesh with infinite hues,

Scarlets and crimsons and blues.

She is the painter, I am her easel,

I am addicted to her many colours and how they look upon my skin.

Yet I want rid of her abusive love.

But, alas, I return to her artist's chair,

Wincing and waiting.

I drink more ink than water now,

I wish my psychiatrist did know how

black my blood seems to be.

And each morning after I sleep with her,

my hands are dyed with her body's ink

my blackened heart begins to sink,

I want rid of her abusive love!

My veins do gush with ink and guilt

of how my mother doesn't know we meet every night.

I'd kill a man to not feel the sensation I feel when she walks in the room!

I'd rather be blind than see her naked in my bed!

I'd rather die than let her touch me,

And scar my body with another tattoo.