I feel the lash bite into my back. I witness the birth of raw welts with enthusiasm.
I am skewered alive and then generously bathed in scented oil.
Salt is viciously rubbed into my wounds and vigorously shoved into every lacerated crevice.
Lavishly, I bleed beautifully. Abundantly, it flows. I have no desire to recoil.
Sanguine fluids float up and transforms harsh lines into a contented smile.
I admit that I, of my own free will, have been soused in insanity.
My masochist preferences are but the byproduct of one, who is in the throes of love.
My only defense is that I suffer from the mental deficiencies of humanity.