Midnight Masochist

My book is one for masochists
They wrote the epilogue for me in hate
So I wrote the prologue in pain
I wear these bands upon my wrists
To remind me not to reciprocate
The anger growing deep within my grain

This wasn’t supposed to be like this
Creatures like me are meant to stay inside
Stay safely trapped within our hell
Each new heartache here feels like bliss
In such suffering there’s no need to hide
But of its endless pleasures tell

My heart is one for machinists
I sit and admire the prisons we have made
And how they look the same
And you’re sure the warden still exists
Or do his footsteps start to fade
As we near the approaching flame