martyred masochism

A poem about choosing to hurt in the end for the gratification of today.

from your lips on my cheek
to your nails in my back
to the knife in my gut
i will stay.

if you knew it would end
with my blood on your hands;
will we trace back the war
to today?

i would follow
or push
or love
or scream
or come
or fall
or die

for this moment
with you
in your arms
on your mouth:
to be loved
and fucked up
and destroyed.

when the smiles on our lips turn to teeth in your shoulder
and the tears in our eyes will run red.
i know it today
that i'll scream it tomorow
for the promise of pain
i will stay.