The Masochist

I keep coming back for more

I don't know why I do

I offer you my heart,

A fragile red rose,

And you always rip it in two.

Call me stupid, optimistic, or just plain blind,

But, try as I might, I can't get you out of my mind.

You're like an ugly tattoo, a virus,  an incurable disease,

The more I cut you out, the more I bleed.

Yet I still come around, still long for your kiss,

What's my name?

Call me masochist.