My skin is drying
Weathered by the oppression
Unfairly it believes in the right to exfoliate
Crusted rot is filling up my pores.
Deprived of its right to moisture
Psoriasis infects the beliefs
Persecuted under the force of gravity
My cover is peeling away,
Bit by angry bit
Flaking off a utopia
Hoping to make it big, striking out on its own.
Discarded pieces of immigrating flesh
My skin is rebelling to a free new world.
A fresh scab is not an island.