Jun 22, 2017
Skin
In the process of erosion, The mindless will make a notion, That they’ve found a potion.. Instead of a poison, I heard the echos of a universe my soul used to make noise in, And buried eroding whispers of hatred in a small flask, I was a mummy slowly unveiling the last layer of my mask, My skin slowly being ripped off with every pull of the polveriving cast, Ripping off pieces of my flesh and the components of it’s past, I wanted the simple moments to count but never to last, I wonder if some day a soul will dare stare and ask, Where could I have possibly left my flesh.. To try to remember what it was like to have skin cradle me in it’s nest.
-L. Quiles
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