Punish me

Hit me in the mouth with your back hand and make me spit blood. Let me feel your knuckles crease my face right above my left cheekbone. Yes I've been bad, so bad, again, love, bad enough to burn. Don't make your excuses. Don't run to your room, letting me escape to roam the streets with my drunken gait bumming cigs, and crawling home at noon, my hair a mess, my dress ripped and torn. Don't put it off, again. I'll never learn until you insist a swollen lip, a purpled eye, a broken arm is what I deserve. What I need from a man so listless in bed, so absent each night, is a little pain, a battering ram to force me back to your arms. You ain't that guy you say to me, but I want to hear an angrier voice, one crossed with acid etched in chrome, taking away my buzz of bourbon laced with coke, reminding me that I belong to a brutal guy, the nastiest boy in town. A man who knows how hell's unleashed with a lash across my back so bare, hungry for its stripes. But then, each time you brush aside my pleas, retreating to your car or den, leaving me with nothing but this rancid life and the thought that you don't give a damn.