Hurt Me

I sit on the edge of the bed, hands in my lap,
Free when they crave the taut of a rope.
My fingers wind themselves together, as if to
Mimic some faraway restraint, salvage lost hope.

He gets into bed, the springs creak, he whispers
Sweet nothings into my ear, caressing me softly
And I dig my nails into my own palms violently
Wishing he would do the same; he could do the same to me.

Enough with the sickly sweet, these whispers, this bullshit
I pull away, clawing at my own skin. In my desire
To get away from the man who loves me too much
To hurt me, I have walked right into this quagmire

I long to see long red welts on my thighs,
Finding their way clearly down amidst the milky white
Bruises on my lips, tinting pink to deep red,
But I am left yearning, my craving denied