Skin.

I am palming the bulges of my stomach.

I am scraping the feeling off my forearms.

I am clawing at my clammy scarlet palms with uncut nails.

My head is dizzy, decayed, what's the harm.

I am ripping the plastic fat of my things.

I am peeling my cheeks till they're numb to tears.

I am pinching the skin that settles by my collarbones brink.

Somethings craving the spinning wheel's touch.

Sleeping beauty skin, sweating and pink.

Tell, my skin confines me far too much.

I am intangible, uncontrollable,

I am a psyche, a soul,

I am feelings that feel far too infinite-

And yet, how am I soft thick skin, far too firm, too whole?

How must a finite thing envelope my existence, a riot?!

I am my everything, and yet I stand on ten toes?

I am coursing blood and,

I am coursing thoughts without close.

Rather, make my fillings pocket-sized and planned.

My skin, horizonless.

My skin, dimpled earth.

My being deep in crisp cold soil.

Tremors sweep me,

Yet my skin is deep and tan and old.

Skin beneath the willow tree.

Skin on the bathroom floor.

Skin sunken from the sea.

I'll be skin, forever more.