Skin Poem by Kila Condon

I don't have my skin,
a skeleton,
a bag of bones.

I have no real place to call my home.

A darkened heart,
rewritten parts.
These lines are so cliche.
They want to attack and kill me.

Vulnerable and human,
needlessly and looming.

Red and blue,
broke and bruised.

Deep.
Deep.
Deep.
Down.

falling with a gun in my hands.
And a knife in my back.

Because, what did I tell you.
i have no skin.
So I couldn't possibly,
ever win.