Starting with my skin, there is a hidden grace in self-destruction. I'll rip to shreds. sheet by sheet thin layers fray with sensation. im bleeding all over myself, and whats underneath is flattering. yet, the tissue takes time to seperate. i hum sweet hippie songs in my head, taring fresh meat from skinny bones. its lovlier than imagined,  slashed wounds uncovering parts that remain till today inhuman. im finding the organic truths tangled in veins,  distracting my soul with things more surrounding than body, with  breathtaking shapes i manipulate to canopy whats been stripped and  feed my soulhungry.

escape is rubbing salt on the infection. who can save me faster than i can shed myself?