Diary of a masochist.

She calls out to me, 

“why don’t you use them.”

Her attempts to lure me,

I try to prove them futile 

but I am, me, you see,

just as obsessed 

as she.

I, a tempted victim 

look at the objects 

of pleasure 

and guilt clouds 

my dark black eyes 

but I gaze at them

I know

the feeling

that comes along

with every time

they touch my body.

I know there is no cure.

“Use them”

“Use them” 

“Use them damn it”

She scream with rage 

“You need it” 

“You’re weak, you need it” 

My act of gazing, 

now turned into a stoic stare

I’m succumbing, 

I need to feed it.

I begin to realise

that this is wrong,

but I incline 

towards the other side 

of sanity

and I take 

the first object 

that will help 

with this blood lust

and use it on me.

I thrust,

it’s lovely edges inside me.

Oh what relief.

The light is dim,

I look at her, 

I pant, grabbing my breath, 

one step closer to death.

and through the mirror 

I see her smiling 

at the blood, 

that drips from me skin

I see her grinning, 

with immense pleasure 

and satisfaction, 

that masochist within.


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