In need of fulfillment, I ache.

I close my eyes,

and the blackness runs with blood, thick and beautiful...

crimson rivers flow heavily to me.

I press my eyelids in harder:

I'm willing it, please, please be real.

And the violence

Red streams escape down a man's chest

as his throat is slashed;

anger, passion, strength go into the quick hard tear:

my soul is freed.

I'm flying.

Soon, I'll be broken once more, and thirsty - parched;

desiring to drink from fountains of blood again...

Until then.