skin, the template in which i
                     fiddle and fix to my souls scent.
as malleable as the state in which i currently sit...



\



depression* kicks and dilutes my perception of the
azure sky-which i can still see is beautiful,
although i cannot find it in me to cocoon, so i leer
i may never feel the true glow of sun to skin
or salt to tongue
so latch to my mouth and quaff at my lips
so i can feel the plastic heat of your metallic
kiss and breath you in
like a tasteless alcohol
because i am me and nothings meaningful.