My skin is a canvas. Organic. Natural. Crawling to get off. But my insides threaten to tear away if the skin unravels, and so the skin unwillingly stays in shape. It knows within snarls a beast, waiting to be unleashed. So it puts aside its dreams of an escape to resolution. Duty forever overshadows desire. It must have been written in the stars, just as it will be etched in paint and blood.