Unfinished?

this has been sitting in my unfinished bin for a while not sure what to do with it.

Skin is like paper

Skin is like paper, dry, etched in soft grain.
Delicate and somehow warm to the touch.
Dressing us in a fine cloth of heavy damask.

Skin is like paper, fragile, supple and lithe.
Torn like butterflies wings, dashed by wind.
Bent and twisted it clings like water in a creek bed.

Skin is like paper, casing, folded and wrapped
Caressing us like broad arms protective and caring.
Curving and taught, tailored to the inch in cut and fit.

Skin is like paper, browned and black, blistered and burnt.
It boils from beneath, living fire giving it life’s touch.
Peeling like ribbon, freed of the vestige of flesh.

Skin is like paper, thin and slight, easily broken
It breaks like a fine china in pale, slender splinters.
It is dashed like a innocent dream upon the harsh dawn.

Skin is like paper, it carries the tale of times past.
The life of its owner is written in words pale and mute.
A life of times on a surface laid bare to one with eyes.


Let me know if you think it has somewhere to go still.
Thanks