I think it’s about time that I move bodies.
I need it. The refreshing movements of shaking off a skin, filling perfectly into a new face, a new smile, a new personality.
It’s simple, really. I scrape off the skin and muscle and bone with knives and chemicals and pressure. Then I add it back on using the same tools, building it to the essence of what I’ve always felt under my skin, the shape of my soul. I am full of me, of what I was always meant to be.
Until I realize that the new skin changed nothing. That the face underneath will never fit into the form I had migrated too.
There is no structure to fit me.
And then it’s time to change skins again.