My skin is peeled, once more, and I am flesh on open bone.
Why is it that darkness must be, in order for light to be known?
Why is loss needed to highlight the beauty of having had?
Why is betrayal needed to highlight the beauty of loyalty?
Always, it hurts.
Will it ever stop hurting?
How, says a universe of contrasts, will the world continue to spin without its opposite end?
My skin is peeled like lemon, like sugar sweet.
My skin is peeled for aching humanity.