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.
Soon, I'll be broken once more, and thirsty - parched;
desiring to drink from fountains of blood again...