Bloody Love

Blood.
It drips, it plinks, and for many it is life.
We love to spill it for pleasure.
We are gods among the mortals,
For no mortal can stand the pain
We put ourselves through.
No god can understand why it is,
Us who live with this fetish.
This hunger, this lust, for the bloody pleasures of the body.
Whips, chains,
Knives and needles.
Rings, ropes,
Spikes and clamps.
So many of the things we use in life
That inflict the pain that sends shivers down our spines,
To turn our knees to jelly and drive the voice from the body.
Perhaps we could teach others to love this pain as we so do,
But are they strong enough?
To take into themselves the essence of torture?
To impale themselves on the belief that pain is just another emotion, and not always a bad thing?
No, I guessed wrong.
I am sorry,
For those who have died in my loving arms of their own accord.
I didn't mean to push the blade so deep.
The whip came down so fast,
I couldn't stop it.
And now my beauty, you are gone from us.
I lay your body down and leave the darkened room.
So sorry lovey.

Andrea Salt
Jan, 6, 2003