The Art of Hiding

They say all I need is a soft touch, but what I crave are rough hands.
Feeling your heat radiate and your heart beat against me is when it all starts to become too much.
You want tender, soft lips- while I need dragging, smothering teeth.
There is no sense of urgency in your calloused hands, while my soft fingers try to devour your flesh in angst. They say the eyes are the windows to the soul, which is why I refuse to reveal mine.
For through my eyes you would be able to see past the fire, cynicism, and hatred the soul is hiding behind. Deep in my soul lies a need- a need to be caressed and held.
If you explore into my eyes you would see what I hide from myself.
So grab me, slap me, and fuck me hard.
All I hope is that with enough fuel added to the fire, all will be consumed with only ash remaining.
The most beautiful of diamonds come from incredible pressure and darkness.
I only hope something beautiful or honest is produced before I explode- but nothing beautiful can grow from the ash of a constant fire.
So steal the breath from my lungs and squeeze me- I am not fragile; for there is nothing left to damage.