This body is so cumbersome and empty
full of bones I dream of breaking

so ****** the idea has become that
I ****** to the thought

of how great the spoils are of wasting
this perfect body away

I am growing tired of this skin
how it hold me captive

gripping tightly to the ivory prison
I gush, the thought of carving in

A primitive temptress, a ghost of the past
a shadow on white fair skin

How I wish to paint it red, to rekindle my flame again

How cumbersome this body can be

It’s been ******, and hit, and starved, and stuffed
What more could I wish to be done?

It craves the oil in a pain of rage
It loves how my skin must boil

Oh god may I ask
Was this what you intended
When you created man in your image
Do you hate yourself just as so
So am I just another flawed creature born from a perfect god.
Destined to stray from his lies.