I got a taste for blood last night.

It wasn’t yours,

It wasn’t his,

It wasn’t hers,

No.

I got a taste for blood last night and it was my own.

Sometimes I consider draining myself dry,

Sucking myself into sand

Come, watch me crumble.

I got a taste for the blood which runs

From my lips.

But nobody ever described self destruction like this,

I never considered I might enjoy it.

Because when you hold your hand out to me,

I refuse being saved.

There’s something masochistically fun about fading away,

About the red hot pain.

But no matter how I implode

Your hand returns,

I tell you I’m still hungry,

That I’ll always be starving,

I’ll never be satiated...

Because I got a taste for blood

And it’s my own.