Miss SlipSkin, how inside-out
you pull your face as though
it were a fine-traced mask
Your tears warm your throat;
if they were words,
they would leap and shouyt
grotesque. Your stockings
clot your veins and golden tresses
invade your strange intestines.
Peeled again and again,
your truth grows thin,
Miss Unenviable Slipped and Skinned.
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