Moth-Eaten
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Canvas
For The Art
Of Inflicting
Etching
Bleeds Into Me
Forever
Ripped From
Nail To Nail
Flesh Hanging
But Not Free
No Piece Left
Unpierced
Tormented
Moth-Eaten Dream
Every moment, I wait
I have never been free from the art of inflicting, yet it can cease to be
But that lies in their hands, in the silence they refuse to feel
Only they can make me love the good
And only they can make me love the suffering
For my love is in everything they do
If they no longer torture, I no longer love torture
If they no longer bleed each other cold
Then I no longer love such a heart-draining horror
But the "if" means nothing when they love the suffering too
They reject it, but they manifest it, and from their worlds justify it
They take the most powerful organic tool, language, and destroy empathy with it
I will always suffer, and I will always love it
I will always love them and all the ways they burn
Gouge, and break the bones, shatter the hearts of each other
I will continue to flow in the tears down their fragile faces
And I cannot have it any other way
I am embodied in love and enslaved in worlds of hate
There's No End
WHY
WHY
Begging
For Nothing
CLAWED
DROWNED
PIERCED
CRACKED
DRAINED
RAPED
GOUGED
DRAGGED
BETRAYED
BEATEN
CHOKING
CRAWLING
DECAYING
WITHERING
INFLICTING
ETERNITY
My heart became the art
Life is loving
Suffering
But if I could hate
There's nothing
I could ever hate
Than loving
Anything
Anymore