Tonight, I felt like
peeling my skin
from the top of my head.
take it really slow
making sure it's
all forming a ******
mess
within my tight
grip.

Tonight, I feel like
hindering my conscience
going out senseless -
driving this tractor
down & further
  down on my knees - picking
  these scabs. disfiguring
  all of your perfect portraits.

If my soul
is unharmed
untold
unfelt
unbent
unchaste
and unruly
surely, a bunch of flesh
and fine lines
beneath my sunken eyes
won't define the edges
of why what how and where
i begin and cease
to exist.

Don't you think
when you are in a corner
fending for the life of your
stale & weary reflection.
Crying out for help
perhaps, a dash of perception?
Didn't you think that
I would smell it on you?
Your fear is fantastic -
but then - you have always been
so full of it.