Strange Pleasures

Eager claws tear through my skin,

Get to my heart through tender flesh.

On my face I bear a Glasgow grin,

But the tears I wear aren't fresh. 

Now, my tastes may be strange as sin,

But masochism is my pleasure,

And when you tear through skin so thin

I become excited beyond all measure. 

It makes me realise how numb I've been

And finally let's me feel. 

And even if it is pain you're bringing in,

I think I like the way you make me squeal. 

The End

53 comments about this poem Feed