Sometimes, I get the urge to rip my entire face off.
To feel my long, pointy nails pierce my skin.
To feel the skin gather under my nails
As they drag down my face,
Along my chin,
And down my neck.
Sometimes, I have the urge to hurt someone.
Not physically; that would be too easy.
I want to feel the energy shift and
the pause to process what I have said.
I want to see the disbelief in their eyes,
The heartbreak in their heart.
The reaction, no matter what it is, to my actions.
Sometimes, I have the urge to tear open my chest.
To pull apart my breast and dig through the skin and flesh
Until I reach my ribs.
I want to crack each bone, pull back my lungs
And grab my sweet, beating heart.
And I want to detach it from my body and admire it.
Then, I will press my thumbs into it,
Feeling through the soft, plushy material until I reach the center.
I want to stare into it and caress it before I faint from
The overwhelming joy and blood loss.
The Paramour 