I should like to peel my flesh back
Like plaster. Find myself after all these years
Mummified. Skin myself into the fashion of another.

Would they find it strange?
This soft female decay

Unwrapped like an ancient treasure.
Perhaps it would delight.
A new play-thing.
A strange reincarnation.
A woman born from apathy and isolation.

Am I a masochistic?
I always hunt in my dreams.
Rip the blue heart from my chest.
Feel my temperature cool as I wake fearing
my hands are blood-stained.

What would my obituary say?
Would I feel the fame I so craved?
Rip the words from mouths like scabs.
Watch the time thin in front of me
like Narcissus.

I should like to peel back my flesh. Although
I am frightened all I would find is
A dying foetus, half-aborted, suffering
the red light.