Blood to Blood

I let you take control.

I let you play with every
part of myself that I find
irrevocably important.

You are my master;
I call you my master because
you're cruel enough to bring
me to the point of death, but
pull me back with a bleak mental
space of passion. You hold the
whip because you know my heart
wants the scars; you know I must
be tied down, watch my skin change
colors.

Participate in the sickest game:

Cut your wrist to feed me,
I like the bitter copper taste
you drain. Pulsing through
my body, I'm liquid fire. You're
a thousand paper cuts flooding
through my bloodstream into
my heart. I feel each tear as a
place we could never reach
emotionally. You're smirking
like a hunter; I'm the innocent
you've been chasing for
years.

You drink my scars to feel
my heart inside your flesh.
It's the best rush you'd never
admit to; it's not in your nature
to show me anything but pain.

I am an emotional masochist.
You're an emotional sadist.

And this is the game we play.