Bloody French Kisses
I.
This clawing urgency in the tips of your fingers,
Tracing jagged red lines down my skin.
It merely serves as a venting of your frustrations.
War is hell, and I love it.
Cry havoc! Loose the dogs of war upon me!
II.
Every blow strikes my frame true, yet I chortle at the inevitability of your impulse.
My skin burns bright, blood racing to the surface, scaring away the goosebumps.
Your nails tear me apart, yet I am a titan.
Your violence only flatters me.
Your anger only amuses me.
That awkward silence as you watch the juice of my life dribble down my body is,
Dare I say it?
Cute.
Wiser people learned long ago of that hidden tolerance to pain.
Have noticed the scars.
I do not care to hide them.
III.
So ravage me!
Let your fury flow free!
Rain blows upon this beautiful monstrosity of mine!
Live out your hateful fantasies.
You cannot hurt me.
Not where it counts, anyways.
I buried my weaknesses beneath mounds of flesh.
And your grasping hands, your flailing limbs,
They’re merely distractions.
The years have taught me patience.
IV.
I simply ponder,
As the echoes of your heart roll across my skies.
Your hurts are much easier to spot than mine.
And your tears are much like my blood.
Hollow reminders of where the pain all really originates.
Thus, I condone your actions, darling.
I feel your presence.
Batter me into pulp.
Scratch and tear and claw at this husk of mine.
Bury your head in my chest.
Cry as hard as you possibly can.
V.
Your arms wrap around my torso,
Refusing to let go.
Your mouth reeks of blood.
The red stains on your skin, and your fingers.
I know what my blood tastes like, darling.
It is a bitter, coppery drought.
Like poison on my lips.
VI.
War is hell, love.
These wounds will heal.
Of that I am certain.
Pain is simply a reminder.
That even us titans are inherently mortal.
But in hurt, we are as one.
VII.
Your bloody french kisses will stain me, I’m afraid.
Doubt my skin will ever feel whole again.
So tear me apart once more!
To make sure I’m still alive!
Pour your agony into the canvas of my flesh!
Your lust is but a trifle.
And your anger is merely amusing.
VIII.
Your eyes are firm, believing.
A subtle reminder of your truer hue.
No, my pains are secret.
You may batter at this carcass,
But you will never dare peek inside.
The form is yours to disassemble.
But the prize is forever mine.
IX.
The scent of blood slowly lingers.
You – a vampire of substance.
I’m merely the conduit.
These reckless silly kisses,
Are distractions, darling, at best.
Seek pleasure in this, my rending.
Let my darknesses feed your heart.
But my vaults will never open.
