I Must be a Mental Masochist

Hit me again.       
Smack me in the face   
with your smirks and disdain.       
I love it.       

Stab me deep to my trace of a soul       
and make me scream.    
[Just another one.]     
I want to hear it again,       
how I'm only useful for one thing,       
that in this medium alone       
I can move you.       
       
Crush me with the weight of your judgements    
and scrape    
those rusting, burning memories across my chest    
to draw blood from where it matters most.       
   
Go on.
Shove your rigid views of my mind       
down my throat and watch me writhe   
breathless - defenseless.       
Lick my wounds slowly,       
so I can soak in the sting       
as you wrap your icy fingers of indifference       
around my neck, and squeeze       
just hard enough for me       
to see who is free.       
       
Somehow I keep finding myself       
wasted  
on my knees   
begging for more.