I got a taste for blood last night.
It wasn’t yours,
It wasn’t his,
It wasn’t hers,
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.