Bound to Violence (Take a back seat)

Take the knife to the life line      
and hold it to your throat.      
Say you love me one more time.      
I'm struggling to resist, don't persist in my cravings.      
       
I love the sight of your throat slashed      
and your blood spraying out, an enthralling image        
to say the least. I'd call it a decorative splatter.      
I'll always imagine loving you, imagining it now.      
       
I imagine death in its many forms, its many images      
in an explicit pornographic flick. I take enjoyment        
in regulating sympathy, rationing affectionate displays.      
It's not real, so you know.        
       
Violence and bloodbaths consume me. Loss, agony, despair        
and retribution fuel me. Bound to hatred by obligation      
it's ingrained in my putrid soul. Blackened and vile      
and I just cannot give a fuck for you. Let alone anyone.      
       
Nothing but a weapon, my finger poised on the trigger      
to the side of my skull. Now fuck off; it is time to finish    
what I started, what still remains empty needs its fulfillment.    
And you; in yours, in your blood hunger quenched.