It's a good thing we have skin. Otherwise
we'd have to see our filthy hearts, beaten and
                                                                             scrubbed raw,
Torn   apart   and  pieced back together with
Masking                                                     tape
                    Dented and bruised with abuse blackandblue not red
Except for the
scabs and sores and cuts and holes waiting to be filled
                                                                             With something
anything.
                  They contract, retreat to the beat of
desperate breaths   and                                         lonely sobs
Pumping a polluted river through our veins flowing with all the
                                                                                       Refuse
The tears and unsung songs, silent pleas drowning under
                                                                                    the weight.
                                                                                    All while we flash
Our pearly whites shake our bony hands
And say hello and how are you and fine and very well

thank                                                                        you