'Goodnight, lovely one...' Said the crimson-haired man. My warden in this ethereal prison. He then left me for the voices, the large iron door closing behind him with a resounding squeal and a lound clunk.

The voices will come soon.

Voices...taunting me.

Always taunting.

Screams neverending.

The pain of the Earth as inflicted by humanity.

My punishment.

My duty.

Darkness enclosing, the screams starting up, all alone, with naught but the memories of my blood red-haired warden, my spectral love.

But it will suffice, holding the pain off.

Strength, so powerful. Protecting endlessly, but still not strong enough. Nothing is strong enough.

Crazy?

Maybe.

Reality?

Definitely.

Silken dreams to hold off the voices, hands roaming gently. A bite at my hip, lips moving over my skin eternally, scorching the fragile, white flesh.

Nails digging into me, blurring the lines between pleasure and pain. A whispered endearment, a flash of crimson and a pair of lips descending onto mine.

Entry, being filled to the brim; both insanely pleasureful and painful at once.

Where do you draw the line between suffering and love?

Movement; exquisite feelings burning nerves raw. Blood being drawn, slickening the skin, painting a picture of disgusting beauty.

It feels so good, a sharp pain with each new thrust, followed by a sublime euphoria in the same second.

Such a pretty shade of red.

Red like the hair of my lover.

Climax, at once unimaginable pleasure, and sustained agony. Neverending, eternal, yet instantaneous.

A black hole of emotion, all-encompassing, yet not really there at all.

Two bodies, entwined in a mass of blood and sweat. Pain and pleasure. Eternity and Nonexistance.

Love, the greatest oxymoron of all, because the more he hurts me, the more he loves me...right?

But a dream is just that, and soon the illusion will fall, and all that is left will be the pain.

Nothing good about this pain, for there is no love in it.

Merely pain for the sake of it.

My punishment.

Clawing at your arms like a pack of wolves, blood flowing like a crimson river of regret.

It hurts, doesn't it?

But it doesn't hurt like when he does it.

It's not that good.

Void of emotion, a barren tundra of pain. A black hole following a supernova.

For all that goes up must come down.

But morning will come, the sun will rise, the black shall be chased away.

And he'll come for me again, to repeat the process.

'Til morning then.

But for now, I am chained down by my agony.

May you be so loved.

--

A/n: That made no sense, and just so y'all know, I am not currently high. Read and review please, even if it is to tell me that it sucked, which I'm pretty sure it did. I may just continue it though, once I figure out what the hell it meant.

I'm out.