Never gentle nor rough,
The feeling is always there.
Whilst my skin feels tough,
Beneath it crawls and dances like an urge.
I could never get enough,
A high all my own that begs for more.

From my arms up,
This urge grows.
But will I let it turn my image of myself corrupt?
The only thing I am doing is fooling myself,
Allowing me to keep snug in restraints over something so abrupt.
Oh, the freedom and peace this feeling could bring.

From what I know, there is no pain,
Only the one thing I crave the most.
Yet why is it I refrain?
Of course, it goes back to the disgust man has.
It is the only thing which brings this beauty a stain.
Such magnificence which man can't understand...

Again, I stray from Her commands of shifting....