A skinless torso
Lays naked on the cold floor.
The grinding pain, defaces the tiles
It twists and distorts their body.

Helpless and lifeless
The naked bones visually ache
As it pulls with all its strength to crawl

Which skin should they wear today?
A bony finger flicks through the collection-
Pretty little girl,
Genderless,
Tortured soul,
Dead,
None seems to fit the mood.

A decision made
Pulling the flesh up to the ankles,
Careful to slide in the toes
Anklebones covered,
Kneecaps aching
Over up the pain,

To the upper leg,
A cemetery of pain,
Healed and fresh,
Lacerations- Raw pain.

Now to the sex
Oh, it is a girl skin.
You can tell as the blood clots and trickles down, they say she is a woman now.
I say she is fucked.

Keep pulling,

Up to the stomach,
The skins loose.
If you listen, you can hear the vultures flapping about in her stomach,
All food traces died when she did.

Up to her chest,
This skin, holding up the pathetic excuse of breasts
That covers the hole where her heart used to be.
You barstards ripped it out.
She does not care though,

As she slides her arms in,
Careful not to open those wounds again
She bleeds for you.
Into the holes her fingers coarsely glide.
Now’s she capable,
Bring on the pain,

She is zipped into her skin
Her sunken eyes look down,
Which skin had she on,
The one in which she was born,
The old used and badly abuse
That rose among the thrones.
Picked and plucked,
Aged and worn.
Left bear with just the marks from their thrones.

08/04/2007