Masochist

Take me out, my oldest lover,
behind the sheds
where I begged for my green card
in the whitest rags
and where I was pushed upon my bloody knees.
I know that's where home is.

Kiss me weakly, with fierce blue
flames alight in your wicked eyes.
This illusion of love is beaten across me
and it bleeds me on the cement,
my oldest darling,
I know it's okay, it must be -

you were here.

At five fifty five
you cut away your cable ties.
Freedom breathes
out of my pores,
the liquid and remains
pour into the bucket
where I left my hymen.

Drill your holes, cunt,
into the walls
and place your cameras
to keep me still, silent
but a mistreated Bambi.  
I won't speak, I won't recall the day
I begged for your heart -
crawling before the king,
crying over bruises and scabs.

Drill those holes
into my walls
where bullets forgive you,
where anger brews
and hostility is manifested from a troubled innocence.
It's how you create an animal, isn't it?
It's all you know how to love, isn't it?
You walk away, those cold eyes nod at nothing more
than a feral Frankenstein.