It's a poem.

The Masochist

I can feel his yearning for complete control,
The type that will make me run purely on sense,
Frenzied I will be, haunted with images of inanimate limbs,
My body welcomes the adrenaline.
My twitching fingers try to grasp the intangible;
Oblivion.
My better half attempts to revive himself,
"Do not yield, Do not yield!" He screams.
How do I do it?
I shot myself with uncanny precision,
With the rarest of bullets,
It penetrates me,
It excites me,
Keeps me on a constant climax.
This is the other side of Eden,
What I live for, what I will inevitably die for.
"Addict" is merely an euphemism for my type of people.
One dose, two doses, three doses,
It's never enough.
For I still see her eyes,
Like a gamut,  her expression is variety of sorrowful notes,
Something is not right.
My better half attempts to revive himself,
"Do not yield, Do not yield!" He screams.

-DjPrecise