When the fire burns me,
It feels like delicate fur,
Grazing over my skin,
Making me groan in psychotic pleasure.

Just like the joy,
Is your everything,
The tears of my pain,
It's my tequila.

I turn and look in the mirror,
And I see someone I like,
She's in blood,
Pure cuts on her skin.

My heart never clenches,
It never feels sadness,
It always protects me,
Makes sure it's all gone.

I'm in love with the prick on my finger,
That the rose once gave to me,
I went back to that rose plant
And jumped into it's bushes.

Some might say that's painful,
Some might call me crazy,
But it's not their business is it,
It's not them enjoying the pain.