It might be nice. 

That's what I've come to think, yes.

If I could buy myself some silky thick skin I'd spare no expense - 

I'd wear it for days. 

Many a chain store, botique and secondhand shop I've searched 

Skin seems to be a trope of things, a menagerie. 

The shoes on my feet, a spared body-mod, 

Books I like to read, and a soupy, seasoned mind. 

It might be nice. I might like these things. 

But no umpth combination sits well or appeals to me.

All I ask for is finest and sleekest and strongest

I've found I can't imagine these things - 

Let alone be. For that, I bleed. 

On a paper face my tears run red 

Proudly, nakedly. 

Someone must have said the only armour

Would be be clumsily crafted by me.