The trespasser has torn my skin
Drowning my screams till I cannot breath
till i degenerate into a puddle of mush.
No help for my insignificant
thing under the skin.
The thing i cannot see, that isn't mine.
The insignificant thing,
my soul
The trespasser tore my skin and
stole my thing and then left nothing inside.
Outside I'm bleeding but inside I'm dead.
What does it matter, i have no head.
i have no heart.
i'm born alone.
Justified justice that i die alone,
and die without a thing.
Meagan Peters
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/under-the-skin/
