my skin, my skin, is sinking in
and revealing the flesh and exposing the sin
that doesn't exist, not without but within
this sacred temple, behind this wicked grin,
not of joy, but the rictus of my chagrin,
i'm losing ground and starting to drown
but I am satisfied with the fact that there's no thorns and no crown.

this is exposed like a peel not a wound, to be consumed rather than abused.