In the world of dark delights
I find myself consumed
Pulled in by the thrill
Of control and surrender
The sting of leather
The gnaw of ropes
Every sensation heightened
Bruises blooming like flowers
I find comfort in the ache
The constant throb
The familiar sting
I crave the sharpness
The intensity
The rawness
It’s a twisted kind of comfort
A sick kind of solace
To revel in the torment
An addict to the pain
Naivety World 
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