House of Skins

There's little left, say for the skins of those i've often bled. Stacked heart deep around me... i live in a house made of skins- Iv'e had chances to redeem-come clean, but always chose to breathe the slanted sweet. Nobody to blame but the idiot (me), sitting high atop his grinning rock- Less than half a clock left (there is still time... i think), to sweep the heart of these filthy sweets- with a malstrom of apologies? where to start-its quite a list, i live in a house made of of skins. i used to think heaven was within my crooked reach, until i looked behind saw the burning pins i jammed into the purity of angel eyes.. can I patch them up with a birthday card and tarry rhymes? crow footed memories, so little time... i live in a house made of skins.