Make it hurt. Make it sting. Make it bleed. The warmth of the blood reminds me that I’m still real. The ache of the bruise makes me smile, awakening the things done. The wound ripping open is the only thing that feels welcomed.
Make it raw. Make it burn. Make it scar. Bring me to my knees- a position I’d rather be. Surrendering all my dignity for the pain. Placing what respect I have left in your hands. Leaving only the hate for myself.
Make it red. Make it ache. Make it throb. A reward for the punishment. A temporary, unimaginable high. A validation that only comes with the pain. The more I want it, the more I must endure.
