empty

lame title, i know, wanna fight about it? good, get the hell out of here!

Please No CSS

I don’t feel like there’s a hole in my stomach

So the words won’t be coming out right.

I need to be denied.

To hand myself over

To another master

Who will tie me down

With inane tasks and absurd requests.

To feast from the plate of residue.

Always wanting, Always hungering.

A gaunt figure on a bed of nails.

The cool touch of metal

Protruding into my ribcage

Tickling the last few beats

Out of a blackened heart.

To wade my fingers in pools

Of my own blood

Inking in the final words

Of a life in servitude,

And totally fulfilled.