Break
Blood seeps through the wound,
of said person who is not dead.
My tongue caresses the liquid,
crimson is now spread.
The feeling to hurt,
the feeling to be hurt.
They say I worship pain,
relish the sensation.
A spurting feeling,
lust in it's creation.
I yearn to dig my nails into his skin,
I yearn to battle him and always win.
But kill him i shall not do,
not yet he shall live this through.
I will cause something,
for him to feel everyday.
For I am the predator,
and he is my prey.
Rather than kill,
leave blood in his wake,
I will merely wreck him,
leave him alive, leave him to break.
