Skinned.

You make me want to put my fingers at my temples
Dig them in, massage away the sound of your voice
the way you leave me no choice, your cruel insinuations
Scratch with my nails, mark crescents around my ears
You paste me under the wallpaper, hang my toes from the chandeliers.
I wear away at my forehead, rub it shiny, new and red
Clutch that flippety-flap of scalp and inch it, slow and steady from my head
Peel away the follicles, slide away the wig of hair
How do you like me now I’m bald? I suppose my suffering’s debonair?
Oh no, oh, oh, now I can’t stop there
Rip away my wrinkles, the crow’s feet and old humour at my lips
The nooses of skin at my neck, the skin screams and rips
Every birthmark and scar flayed from hot flesh,
It was always too tight, you were always too much
I am filling my lungs for the first time before you, a newborn new-made,
The same as I did at a time when your words smelt of love and cookies homemade
Born for you, hunted for you
A sunburn, Icarus, standing before you, glowing like firestone
No longer pale, oh no, oh, oh, fleshy red and skinned, all backbone.
Now hurl your nouns at me, batter me with your gaze
Try test your verbs against my bones and I’ll take you down in the blaze
Your words and swords and their Midas touch
Have moulded me from gold in your clutch
There’s gasoline white-hot thrumming in my veins.
Oh no, oh, oh, how do you like me new? I’m writhing, raging, to show it off to you
So keep trying, old friend, to tear a hole in my brain – cause I’ve got layers, and
layers, and layers and everything
to gain,
and gain,
and gain.
 .
 .
 .
 .
For those who are yet to gain

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