I am not a creature to love.

That is why I look at you know, spread beneath me, offering yourself to me with that strange emotion glowing in your dark eyes, I look at you with anger and lust.

I hate you because you are a creature of love. You do feel emotions, possibly so much stronger than anyone else I yet know. I despise you for that gift you hold so effortlessly, without trying to.

I lust for it because it could be infectious. If it is, then suppose I could also feel as you do? How badly do I have to hurt you for you to hand me this treasure? How hard must my heart pound for you before it explodes in my chest and possibly grows again stronger such as yours?

I am not a creature that understands love. I do, however, understand you.

You want to hurt. You want to scream because you never screamed as loud as when I had harmed you first. You were the first to cause me true pain, I admit, but I know as well that I was your first. When I had you in my grip, you were so weak and yet so stubborn. When I broke you, you broke beautifully.

And then you had risen for more. You need my causing you pain as much as I need the hateful fire that burns me whenever you gaze upon me so softly.

Do I need to remind you of the animosity I feel for you whenever the twist of your lips is so alluring? Yes, I must have constantly. For every time I look at you, you smile just so…

The need to conquer you, force your submission, your loyalty, your outmost obedience, is nearly overpowering. Yet, we are speaking of you.

Obedience? Submission? Loyalty? Every one has all of each from you; and yet no one has absolute all of it. You are untamable, wild, free.

I take what you offer me because I am selfish and cold. I harm you and I attack you and I assault you if only because I like how your face wrinkles with pain. Your voice is sweet and so very uninhibited when you scream so loudly in undulated aching. Aching because you always want more and I always have the wish to give you more.

You are so breathtaking when you sob beneath me. You steal the oxygen from the air and replace it with burning embers. Because while you ache, the love in your eyes is so overbearing. It's unbearably strong and it makes me feel weak.

I hate you because you make me feel weak with your love. And yet it makes me strong at the same time.

Strong enough to wish you dead by my hands. Wish you blood dripping from my fingers, pooling in my palms in wells of crimson.

For now, I make you scream because that makes me feel powerful and you always return for more. There is not an act I can do that could turn you away because you are addicted to my punishment as I am addicted to the hatred your love causes me.

I make you scream and taste was little blood falls with my tongue, adore your broken body with my searing glare, and feel each scar and bruise with the same fingers that should have been dripping with your life's essence.

I despise you for your emotions. I hate you for your love. But I love you for the hate you bring out in me. I love you for how your love makes me strong enough to hurt you.

I hate to love you and love to hate you.

So, Lee, when you scream again, scream my name so that no one can misunderstand that I hate you enough to adore you.

I am not a creature of love or a creature to love nor a creature to be loved. I simply hate and am hated, but I love how your love makes me hate you.

Lee, I simply love how you make me love you.