The Edge of ***

[OD****]

In the quiet recess of my mind,
A shadow whispers, cruel and unkind.
Its voice a tether, pulling me near,
To the jagged precipice of my ***.

But you are there, steady and strong,
A guiding *** where I belong.
Your gaze commands, your hands demand,
“Step forward now—take my hand.”

The rope bites sharp, its silken grip,
A boundary drawn, where ***s now slip.
Your voice, low, a darkened hymn,
Echoes like thunder beneath my skin.

Each strike, each kiss, ignites the flame,
Burning away the weight of shame.
I scream, I quake, I gasp for air,
A purge of demons too long kept there.

Your rhythm breaks me, yet builds me whole,
A mirror of my untamed soul.
That *** is fleeting, a fragile lie,
A veil to pierce, not a place to hide.

The scent of leather, sharp and clean,
Anchors me to what’s unseen.
And though it binds, it cannot stay,
In your hands, I find my way.

You hold me close, my body worn,
A soul once fractured, now reborn.
The scars remain, but now they gleam,
A testament to this vivid dream.

For facing ***, through ***, through trust,
We rise again from the weight of dust.
Beneath your lash, beneath your care,
My fire was forged, burning there.