Skin, Prose Poetry, Internal RhymePosted: October 6, 2015
My skin I feel; it’s so unreal. The lightest brush of feathers, the blood rushing within–this sense of touch that means so much. My skin covers my face and chin; the hairs, they grow up from within. I felt them when I woke today. The blood feeding, the feathers catching–my skin again, my hairy skin. I like the feeling of smooth skin; it’s time to depilate again.