My skin is a shield, it's a layer to protect my insides.

What's it going on inside: I keep a secret.

It's a lot of things: dark things. About death.

But I'm trying to stay alive. Except I have to ruin my skin through the process, to scrape marks on my soft olive skin.

I create red lines that are painful, but yet make me cry. It hurts so much but yet it feels so good...

It's torture and also a source of relief, when nothing in your world goes right.