The violence of silence

I've been in pain for a long time. When people ask me how I'm doing, it's hard not to reach out and touch that place. The one that hurts. I have learned to lie really well. Most of the time anyway. I'm tired of lying. I hurt. OK. I don't want you to say, I'm sorry. I don't wanna say why. I just hurt. It's not going away anytime soon, so I've just accepted the fact that I hurt. I'm sure you've been there before. The long grinding feeling that lurks just so. Popping up like a highwayman when you least expect and when you most wished it wouldn't. Leaving you strapped and naked in the wild with no way to get to safety.

Suck it up

'Cuz you're my vampire. The slick needle shines in the light. You pause before you stick it in. Anticipate it. Feel it. Deeper than it needs to go. Slow withdrawal 'til the blood flows. It jets into the glass you hold at my arm. Veins tensed, pulsing with my heart. Dark, oxygen engorged blood flows from me to you. One, two, three, I count in my head. Always the counting. Full. Time for more. And more. And more. One vial, two vials three. I feel my disease. You can have it. My vampire. Smile. You get all you want. Feed on me.