Rubber is my skin as it wraps around my mouth
Choking and ripping with the stress of breath
I make holes in myself with force
Cause I need the breath and air cant be coerced
The air that is double faced and indecisive
That causes the skin to be decisive
I guess
It chooses where to go and how to bow
As I stand rock face to the pressure I turn gravel
Over the years my face, my body disheveled
Yet my skin remains, my skin the rubber stone.
I hate it and want to break.
