After the Skin
I’ll never use death as an excuse.
If I’m late to living.
Because:
I have rare metals they want to dig out.
Appearances can be weird.
I should have tried to not let that happen.
But when you almost die, you get more metallic.
It’s some sort of crack in me.
Almost like copper or iron being cracked.
There’s nothing more special than:
Cold, metal inside my hands.
Sharp, veins cutting back.
And did you know that metal isn’t that gruesome?
That’s why it wasn’t so hard for them.
After the skin, nothing is.
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