This battle I won’t win,
It is true,
But like thunder I roar on,
Skittish in the broken skies.
The writing is on the wall,
Un miss able,
Like free love,
It makes me hungry
for a change.
For a fright.
For darkened eyes
And torn hands.
I think I'm addicted
to a certain kind of pain,
the kind that stings, cuts, grazes your shins.
I love the sensation of hurt
under my fingernails, hold it in,
I guess I'm just addicted
To you.
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