Bones overlying the flesh, my skin, the funny, tangible, jell-o that you call skin. (the exoskeleton) Another form of metal, mix the poison, chemicals, injected w/ the deadly words of venom (not wisdom) Manufactured exoskeletons. Great expectations are lost when you touch my armor, when you witness my thoughts writhing on the beach of skin which you once so admired and fondled. writhing for air, as if a stranded shark, the emotions have to die out at some point. Tell them, "Good-bye."
Reason for writing:
I like to improvise some of my art. This one just happened to come out from one of the many windows I allow to rent space in my head. -Rob W. Stone 6/09/00
Birth sign: Libra
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