Twist, Turn, Burn

The moves I make to escape the yearn
For my flesh to burn.
Putrid smell of burning skin
Somehow, someday will it wear the memories thin?

The scars it leaves,
Let my mind be free to breath.
Yet the pain comes back
With twice the whack.

So I hit myself, just one more time
And watch as it leaves&;#8230;a blood red line.
I'm designed with a floor
For needing much, much more.

Nothing seems to fill the tiresome bore,
Except for the scars, so fresh, so pure.
The metal I hold it still
Until the skin scars and it will

Stay forever
To remind me never
To let them win, or beat me down
And watch me drown

In the flood of tears and blood,
And if I only could, I would
Twist, Turn, Burn
And no longer feel the yearn.