The Sadomasochistic Addiction written by Criss Tripp at

The Sadomasochistic Addiction

The Sadomasochistic Addiction

written by: Criss Tripp



There’s just a little bit of pleasure,
From somebody’s pain.
With a little bit to measure,
I’m going insane, I crave to gain,
Oh how the passion, and rage is great.
I play in the mud, of disgrace and hate.
Nobody can tell me, or call me a name.
The place I pace inside, I’m disguised as tame.
I’m built with sticks and stones,
So much so, I know, I’m unknown.
True love for me, has shades of black, blue, and red.
Scarring and scaring each other, while we lay in our bed.
Tearing down those walls, for only at night,
Being disturbed, isn’t just a sign in my mind;
Nor can I get high, unless I’m bound and blind.
The tides of time, sublimely align, with rhyme.
I never thought, being covered in blood,
Could be so much fun, I’m in a rough love.
So abruptly corrupt, not enough to suddenly erupt,
But the shove and thrust, like a gun to the sun.
This pain’s a race in my veins, not safe,
But so many traces of improperly placed lace,
Locked aside, and inside of my face.
It’s just not a change, I want to erase.
Nor is there a sane place,
To where I plan to escape.
I crave and crave so much pain,
I’ll go to my grave.
I’ve laid and lain like a slave,
so much so, but it’s ok.
These chains are my crying desired fate.
As well as my faith lies, with the fire in spades.
I want so much passion, to be shown inside of my actions,
So much so, my brain is lacking the traction to be passive.
Sweetly suffering a disease, I’m bound on both knees.
I’m more than willing to bleed, to fulfill my inner needs.
I’ve seen so many screams, inside of my dreams.
It’s haunting release is cream, on top of obscene.
The feeblest sequence of scenes, recede;
As my spleen, capriciously conceives reasoning.
Constantly competing to repeatedly feed my demons.
It’s never completed, until the screams come depleted.
I’m a cynical, suspicious, hypocrite,
With a flip of the wrist and a whip.
These narcissistic ideals of affliction,
Have made me, a recipient of precision.
I’m goaded and bloated with control over stolen devotion.
The motion of words are corroding my soulless emotion.
I wouldn’t have it any other way, as I’m being a victim.
Choked, gagged, slapped, I’m stabbed with addiction.
I’m at the apex, yet I’m a mess, it’s my religion.
I’m bound, defiled, and defined with sadomasochism.

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