Peel my layers back
One by one,
each newer & more pink than the last
(like the soft bubbly flesh of virgin lungs)
(like tongue and gums & freezing palms)
the tin with its metallic twinge, the smog that's settled:
I'm all fresh underneath. New meat.
The sugary coating dissolves,
that acid burns down to my sinew
skin screaming like lobsters boiled
Sinew:
the strongest (weakest) clay,
joints rusty, where's that oil can?
If I only had a heart.
If I only had a heart.
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