skin birdmad nerve ending temperature needle chill touch trigger a million sensations a billion biochemical reactions lightning in a bottle sewn up tight in skin animated wear the evening shadows like a cloak a second skin touch feel sense 020123 ... silentbob broken blood 020123 ... silent storm A prison I long to be free Unless you let me into yours 020123 ... misstree such a thin wrapping for such a big mess. 020124 ... pralines&cream I want to squeeze inside you, and get beneath your skin, I want to swim among your blood, so you can't live without me, and I want you to feel me inside you, and I want you to love me inside you, and I want to feel you inside me, and I want us to be inside each other until we die from pain and please all rolled into one. I want in you. Until it kills me. 020303 ... chanaka my skin is blotchy 020303 ... Miffey stretching slowly across a battered shell. But I'm healing. Hope burns beneath, and it's beginning to feed me again. Why do I always lose so much weight when I'm feeling down? 020304 ... jinx My skin is the only thing keeping my insides inside, and even it is cracking from the cold, winter air. 020304 ... silentbob i could drink you like milk 020324 ... Jarec Nothing is better than her skin on mine... 020901 ... kerry undressing so far from home and rain and there are infinite mirrors you can't see into no matter how much you crane your neck to escape skin *this doesn't belong to me* i remember being jealous of your transformation but we can't really compare anything. you can't say hi without me prickling inside and crumpling. i wanted to be the one to punch down the bread as it rose. 030103 ... the Swinger of birches if i developed thicker skin, i would save myself alot of hurt. if i could make my skin tough and calloused, i could build a wall around myself, making sure that none of me could get hurt. but then i would just be alone, under my skin and behind my wall and how much fun would that be? 030103 ... jinx stupid face... 041027 ... shilohlives Your skin is soo soft against mine. So smooth... so perfect. I am in awe. 041028 ... serendipity yours on mine is as close as we can be. naked physically&emotionally as my soul brushes yours. 041028 ... guitar_freak last night I put my head on my pillow. I could hear my heartbeat, but it wasn't my heart. It was the blood pulsating in my scalp against my pillow. So strange. I couldn't help my focus on that sound, that strange rhythm on my pillow. I touched my head and could feel the beating. It was like life itself was making itself seen. 050102 ... nom thin 060122 ... water lillies I don’t like having my photo taken. I’m OK taking my own photo (which is why most pictures of me also contain a camera and are in reverse), but the second someone else aims a camera at me I feel extremely anxious. I imagine the photographer at home, hours later, zooming in on my skin and discovering all of the many things that are wrong with it. It feels naked; it feels bad. When I take a photo of myself, though, it’s more about the act of taking the picture than it is an examination of my face. It’s safe, and if it looks bad, I can delete it and no one else ever has to know. It really all comes down to skin. Forget the shape of my nose or the color of my eyes or anything at all about my face, because the only thing I’m seeing when I look in the mirror is whether my skin is flaky or red or if I have a pimple or two or seven. The condition of my skin plays a huge role in defining my confidence, my overall mood and even my productivity on any given day. My rational mind tells me this is ridiculous, but my irrational mind has used personal days to stay home from work because of breakouts. So. My skin was fine when I was teenager, OK in my early 20s…and then it just got progressively worse. I never used to wear foundation, but my the time I was in my early 30s it was a daily operation. Ridiculous amounts of time spent every morning dotting on teensy amounts of concealer over red marks with a tiny brush, all so no one would have to know my terrible secret. It’s hard to explain this stuff with anyone who doesn’t know what it’s like to deal with adult acne, so if you fall into that camp, please try to cut those of us who have some slack. To be 37 years old and battling breakouts and wrinkles at the same time sucks. It makes you feel like you’re perpetually trapped in a delayed adolescence while simultaneously running out of the years when you’re supposed to look your best. It’s embarrassing. It makes you feel inept and unprofessional and dirty. And you will try anything to make it all better. 121209 what's it to you? who go blather from