The Beauty of Pain

A Poem By Maks // 3/11/2011

Breathing in the scent of fire
(oh, it’s such a sweet aroma)
my lungs are filled with ashes
(don’t you love their black color?)
My flesh is struggling and fighting
but my mind falls into a slumber.
Who would have ever thought
that the crystal air I will be in need of?

Playful flames my skin are gently burning
I try to catch them with my fingers
(their smiling faces are so tempting!)
Oh, instead they leave me bleeding,
(crimson water drops the stony floor
beneath my bare feet start decorating)
Yet, the pain is a gift I hold dear,
and I welcome it with laughter.

Deep moans of pleasure
(or is it terror, I wonder)
play like soft songs in my ears
they are lost into the darkest holes
but I refuse to join them
(why would I? I enjoy the drama)
my dry lips are curling into a lunatic smile
my hips I start swinging with the rhythm of fire
with my blood- stained, throbbing hands
raised high into the air.

Cold and numb my flesh becomes
(wait, how come? My heart is frying!)
The last bubble of sanity I protected
I poked with my bleeding finger,
a loud thud is heard as it disappears
followed closely by my childish giggles.

Insane and alone into the darkness I wander,
my skin and bones no longer there,
instead a silent, never ending echo I turn into,
created to cause pain and disaster.



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