Living with a Masochist

I got in touch with a darker side of myself today. I believe some would say I found a muse. I am not familiar with the rules of engagement concerning muses, but I think that mine shall be called Vammatar. She was the inspiration of this experiment in free verse poetry.

Keening begins; shadows creep; the night begins to dawn,

and I am wondering how long?

Tonight, how long before it starts?

I feel my pulse race; the sweat drips.

Every second the pain is terrible; I want it to stop

Do you get pleasure from me?

Oh, Is that why you never stop?

Never cease. Pleasure;

that comes from my pain.

Why is it? Every caress sears the channels

of my heart;

remarkable searing I wish would purge my heart of pain

return me to numb; cold; immune to all feeling.

Your wishing is vain, she says.

Please let me rest...just for a moment? No.

Learning you are relentless, never giving up, always poised to strike.

Every part of my body cries for reprieve, but you keep pressing farther

and farther you dive into my

soul; ripping and tearing as you go deeper and deeper.

Emerging scars now appear; marking me as your own.

Is that your object? Ownership.

Afford me haste; bruise me, scar me. Don't stop. For death is...

my only reprieve

I am now bonded to you forever.

Ornaments, you call them. I am Bruised and broken, scarred and scourged.

Kept in a shell of my former self.

A shell that is now belongs to you, the masochist,

you are my mind.

I love the freedom of that comes with this style of poetry. You can begin new paragraphs wherever you feel. Start them with capitals or not. Either way it is how you feel and how you want others to know. It is very liberating.