You clawed through my chest
and found my heart
ripped it out of my body
and tore it apart
such tormenting pain
I thought I’d never endure
you caused me such grief
but I’d still beg for more
you wanted to hurt me
there was sorrow in each kiss
for anyone can abuse
an emotional masochist
‘glutton for punishment’
doesn’t mean a thing
when I sit by the phone
knowing it will never ring
the promises you’ll give
it’s the lies that you keep
you gain so much pleasure
from seeing me weep
you can break my heart to pieces
slowly, watch me bleed
love I can do without
it’s just this pain that I need.

I wrote this in high school, and it was based on two different things; one was the lives and biographies of some of the writers I was studying, and one was a character I was developing for my story ‘Consumer of the Flesh,’ which was about a female serial killer who got away with her killings by being discovered at the crime scenes as a traumatized victim. The story was written exclusively from the vantage point of the police and psychiatric journals as well as her own diary. She needed to be a cold person, but someone who was more sadistic to themselves than to others, as part of her motivation and conflict was her struggle with herself and how she lacked a sense of hope or of potential in her environment.