it’s called desquamation

the act of shedding one’s skin

a lovely word for when the world grinds you up and spits you out

sans epidermis

pieces of you spread across the lawn like bits of bark after a particularly fiercesome storm

desanguination is another pretty word

it is when your blood is sucked from your body

like when the vampires come out to feast in the night

they pounce upon you and suck every bit of life from your body and take it as their own

not to be confused with exsanguination

that is when the sheer amount of petty barbs and wounds inflicted by the world leaves you bleeding out in the ground

such beautiful terms for the horrors inflicted upon us

flagellation and defenestration

toe curling, throat curdling, penance inducing fits of torturous rapture

grated and sated, deflated and emancipated, desecrated and masticated

torn asunder by the lashing whips

rent of flesh and blood

but with a flair

implements of love and war and religion and self induced torment

so they just roll off the tongue

as i sit here

tearing off my skin in an effort to be more attractive to you

drain my blood to reach that shade of pale perfection to catch you eye

as i tear out my hair

(trichtotillomania)

plucking my eye lashes and brows out by the handful

by the tuft

by the strand

to somehow reach the image you have instilled in your heart of the alpha male

the longing in the stained glass cathedral of your heart

the idea floating in your wondrous mind

all i have are pretty terms and third degree burns

all i have to give is scattered throughout the grass of a well manicured lawn

the topiary comes to life and savagely claws at my scalp, at my torso, at my soul

until i have nothing left to give

nothing more to shed

nothing more to shred

and i sit here

your vitruvian man

l’uomo virturviano

a bloody mass of clay to be sculpted by your delicate hands

to be dressed as you see fit

speak when spoken too

to be seen and not heard

desanguinated

desquamated

immolated

imitated

recreated

until all of me that remains is my despoiled remains

unto you i bequeath this husk

reanimated and hated by the piercing stare of love grown bored