Inner Turmoils.

You get me, you use me, deceive, and leave me. Yet, I love every second of it. I love the feelings, the cheap thrills, your burning intensity, the emotions; your touch. It hurts me, so so much not physically but in my inner depths of where my dark desires remain. The irony of it just gives me a dry laugh. How can someone like being hurt? Physically it can be understandable but inwards? What is being derived from this self-searched pain... I look for it all I can then as quickly as it comes it goes. Leaving a faint aroma emptiness in its wake. How this feeling just eats you up and spits you out. Makes you want the pain, excitement, the confusion all over again just to feel something. Anything. Anything. All but the so called label of nothingness leaving its melancholic trail. Slight figments of those past times remain, almost to start up again... Do I want them to? I don't know anymore. It's a craving for sin.


Amazing how twisted the mere human mind can be.