one day my milky skin will be
lacking elasticity.
warped and wrinkled,
old and worn,
slow to heal when it's been torn –
for now it's soft,
so young and fresh,
my supple, fitting teenage flesh.

silken skin now barely used
with time is tested and abused,
stretched and weathered,
scratched and scarred,
leaving marks where it's been marred,
silv'ry ripples in the stream
of skin pale as a fading dream.
the tale of who and where i've been
is written on my skin.


A/N: Just something I came up with when I was bored.
Let me know what you think [: