Spilled Ink from the Vault

I wanted you
to be an act of self-harm,
a pain that calms,
my own blood the healing balm.
It’s not as dark
as it sounds. 
Those who look down
upon a focusing cut, do not understand the grounding,
comfort,
clarity, 
and inevitably they damage themselves in their own way,
but with less self-awareness. 
Be it drink or drugs,
the toxic relationships into which they tumble 
headlong time and again, anything to excess, making gods
of work and the gym, starving
their bodies as though diminishing their physical presence
will increase their worth.
But this is intentional desire. 
This is pain with purpose. 
The destruction I craved was no idle vandalism,
but the cleansing, protection, and regeneration of back-burning.
Alone, I am a wild fire,
and even the renewal I cause pales in the tragic trail of carnage.
But you, I can trust to have control. You alone
can harness these flames
and redirect my cataclysmic emotions
into usable forces of revival.