(_) of the skin
at which i rip
with fingers hands longing to
bite until red

of the sleeves [covering
scabbed arms]i rub across my face
innocently for the sting

of the jacket
thick that i keep on when warm
as final armor doesn't save from
scratched cheeks
nails paint pain whiskers
a clown's mask of stupidity

senseless aggrandizing pictures of mediocrity
want to make another cliched destructive masterpiece until
armor scars everything
and soft fleshy brain doesn't care anymore then
sleep will come
armor all its own
what's it to you?
who go