I dig my nails
into your back
that your skin bleeds,
I hear your soul whimpering,
I hear it sobbing
but it seeks to muffle its crying,

I hear your heart screaming,
the pain is the piercing
of a thousand knives,
of a thousand fires
scorching you,

I dig my nails
into your back,
and when I run my fingers
where I have torn flesh,
your bared skin turns to flaming embers,
you become a furnace,
burning me to crisp.