The skin upon my flesh, fits oh so tight, oh so right. The kiss of my skin supple and sweet, or so right. It fits like a dream, but it feels so wrong. Build it up break it down, ruin that perfection you seek" make it harder and rougher. Your soul traded long ago for the insecurities life offers with success induced coma's. Blindly close your eyes to stumble and break through the ticking time bomb you know you are. Flesh too kiss, flesh to pieces make it happen, take that tight skin and wreck it. Pull it apart and reassign so that your too perfect mind rests at piece. What will it take?A new hunk of flesh for the old? Or a deal one not so bold would quiver in sight of it. All that I ask is for a change a correction; to ease this feeling of bland hate. To breed new vibrant skin upon thy flesh and to break the dangerous mold stuck like glue. Who knew?
(This should be where I offer some sort of authors thoughts on this poem, or at least some direction I was thinking while writing it. But I myself haven't even come across the meaning yet, or maybe I have and just wish it to be gone. Either way, hope you all enjoy)
