my skin, paper-thin
can barely contain
my soul, baring its soft raw self
to the harsh, burning light
of it all.
i didn't ask for this uncovering.
the sight of the ragged red thing,
quivering with every breeze of reality
makes me shudder
who would ask for it,
this precarious exposure?
my peel-away skin shields nothing.
a cricket song, a baby's eyes
are crushing blows and burning fires.
my armor cracks and melts.
now, i am laid bare
on some battlefield
and they bring out the big guns -
the cannons of love and arrows of desire,
the questions of god, the only answers sin
and the quivering red mass of my soul,
absorbs every blow,
shudders and shivers
and then retreats,
leaving me alone with only
my skin, paper-thin.