I'm the result of an infliction. Some try to hide me, others think I'm kinda sexy. I can be large or small. Some have me on their body, others on their soul.

You and I do this all night long because our long play has plenty of these.

Stain signs are left where my teeth bite Like feathers flew so pen could cite A hundred such pens within my cavity Each and every type in continuity One single sign each owns till the end Together is how their purpose mend. Fabulous tool, arent I?

I bite the earth but have no teeth, I dig up secrets buried beneath. In gardens and graves, I earn my trade. Tell me, friend, what am I made?

Take off my skin and I won't cry, but you will! What am I?