"Enough,"
cries the star-line
of my existence.
To thee whose
hand rises in protection
against my own
which prepares to strike.
You are the angel of my
nightmares.
Whose innocence I
dare to shatter
with my own twisted core.
Shall I dare to cut you
once more?
Do I wish to see
your blood flow again?
To form those crimson pools
that mock me in my existence
that reflect the beast inside…
Am I the demon from your
dreams?
Am I the one who makes you
scream?
Am I the monster you've always
feared?
Yes to all of the above
for I have seen the answers in your eyes
late at night as the tears pour down.
Cry my beloved,
I want to see you weep.
My own demented mind
urns for your pain.
And for you,
a new love will be
born again.
"Stop,"
calls the berated incest
of my eternal sleep.
For the one beneath the blade
whose lips speak the same.
You are the life within my
death.
Whose youthful color
I dare to taint
with my own impudent
brain.
Shall I burn you again?
To see your screams
to hear your fear
to smell the tears;
all belonging to you.
Am I the dieing in your
youth?
The one who threatens to
poison
all of your existence?
Am I the essence of your
fear?
Am I the bringer of your final
days?
Or so it would seem to your
insolent mind
of youth and paranoia.
Obedience is all I command.
Your rebellion,
your arrogance,
your body
all scream for punishment.
I see it burning in your eyes
the minute you walk by.
You know you have sinned
by my standards
and you want to be hurt.
You ask me to do it
when you do not bow down.
You beg me to hurt you
when you disobey.
You constantly ask for
my violent attention.
And now,
I try to continue.
The knife pressing to your throat,
it won't go any further.
It was only a threat
but I can't go deeper.
The fear in your eyes
is penetrating mine.
It's doing something not yet done.
I pull the blade away and see your relief.
No.
I cannot let you get away for free.
My debating while your confusion grows.
Lunging down,
again at your throat,
the sterling blade.
Attempt two
to make you bleed-
to make my sick fantasies
come true-
fails.
No blood,
I can't do it anymore.
Why?
A tear leaps from your eye,
cascading down your cheek.
I hate it when you cry
when I have yet to do anything.
Your eyes, so innocent,
so full of fear.
That deep, penetrating fear,
so persistent in drawing out mine.
I let you go.
Will this be the only time?
Or will next time be worse?