Sometimes I scare myself

In my dark times, I scare myself. I conjure up things, images, acts that I wish I could play but know I wouldn't. I dart back and forth between the lines, when I complain about how you're not emotional. My nails pull at your hair, ripping out follicles. I secretly melt and shudder at the thought of your eyes wet with tears and your face red from me slapping you. 

I get intoxicated at the thought of you digging your nails into my flesh, leaving half crescent moons into the meat of my arms. Slamming me against the wall, crying out in fear and excitement as your fists pound on the wall. Whimpering as you yell at me in controlled anger. On impulse, I'd smirk at the fact you lost control and I made you feel this way. 

This never happens however. You simply shake your head at my statement and turn away, as I try to goad you on your lack of emotion.