Jars

This battle I won’t win,

It is true,

But like thunder I roar on,

Skittish in the broken skies.

The writing is on the wall,

                              Un                                                        miss                                           able,

Like free love,

It makes me hungry

for a change.

For a fright.

For darkened eyes

And torn hands.

I think I'm addicted

to a certain kind of pain,

the kind that stings, cuts, grazes your shins.

I love the sensation of hurt

under my fingernails, hold it in,

I guess I'm just addicted

To you.