What is wrong with me?

Is it wrong for me to say that you look beautiful with those bloody lips that you received from another one of your drunken fights?
Or that the way your hair looks when you wake from another night terror?
Am I deranged or just so painfully love struck by the smell of your black and blue bruises?
Masked with the form of security and poise, but secretly chewing on glass, making your gums bleed.
I’m swiftly creeping from the darkness of your endless rage, I’m more then trapped within his gunshot powder.
Making as much sense and as little as you want me to,
I’ll listen attentively to your most obvious and unsatisfying lies.
What is wrong with me?

Is it strange for me to compliment your worst habits?
Or to crave the taste and feel of your meaningful rage?
Am I just disturbed or am I completely sane from all this blood wasted?
He’s leaving behind a blanket of ashes on the falsely accused ground that we walk on,
Veins bursting from the cloud he’s on.
So let me soothe your temper mental side before the bruises once again appear on your cheeks.
Set off nerves that will release all this tension and passion before I become contradictionary.
What is wrong with me?

A blood-stained massacre shredding your swollen eyes, can I still say you’re beautiful?
And even when your hair is matted with sweat and black liquid, is it wrong for me to say “I love you?”
Am I just so wrong and sick if I like the bruises and cuts that I also receive from a late night dance with you?
Bar fights at dawn, unmistaken hits to the head, I’m bleeding internally from my stitched up heart.
He’s my death-to-be, my incurable disease that has been sown to me.
Am I truly sick for loving the physical and emotional roller coaster that has been my life with you?
What is wrong with me?

wow...... I like it alot!!!!!!!

XD Thanx