Masochist

You asked for it

is what you said when I was crying on the floor.

this is your own doing

is what you kept reminding me.

The bitter stings of every word from you

slashing me to the ground

begging for release from the torture,

but I couldn't let you

it was all to familiar.

You'd apologize

let me live our fantasy again

until you got bored

then reopened my wounds

to add the salt directly to them.

I'd let you

if it meant that I kept you

and you loved me

because I knew you had to have loved me

somehow,

someway.

The pain is something I am so used to

like breathing

not knowing pain is foreign,

does that make me a masochist?