Pleasure in the Pain

I can’t remember when I last felt okay.

Left hanging on all the words they say.

A lie sold as a promise to be free,

A false hand stretched out for me.

I fell for it ‘cause tears can cloud the eye,

I reached up but they still left me to die,

But when you’re stuck in hell’s control,

The grim reaper can’t reach your soul.

Every once in a while, someone looks around.

But they can’t see me sinking; mud-bound.

I used to scream in hopes I’d be set free,

But the piercing echo lives to mock me.

They look at me but fade into the day,

All because it’s easier to walk away,

Then to face the truth, to understand,

To throw me a rope and grab my hand.

Frozen in time, buried under the debris,

Blood pounding the cavity within me.

This is my home now and I guess it’s okay,

I was never meant to see the light of day.

So I’m left to hear the voices in my head,

Saying over and over “I wish I was dead.”

Down here the thin air is so cold,

Yet I know that I feel nothing at all.

Scratches and bruises are to feel,

Because I don’t know what’s real.

I wish I didn’t tread into the dark,

Now these scars are my watermark.

 

The pleasure is exposed from pain,

Every time I cut open the vein.

It feels so good, I just can’t explain.

Does this mean I’ve gone insane?

I confuse heinous thinking with love to attain,

A pursuit for extracting pleasure from the pain.