I wish to cut away my flesh.
I don't hate myself.
I just hate this skin,
Weak and bloody thin!

If only
I'd get stone disease,
A rocky, solid covering.
A good suffering.

My mind's already fucked up with fear.
Why shouldn't my shell mirror it
And grow sick?
Start with just a nick...

Stony skin is safe skin.
Nothing can break it.
I'm already broken.
Glad I'm a poet.

With alliteration
Self-mutilation
Is pretty
And misery beauty.