skin.

who are we to talk,
when even pigment can betray us?
the color of our skin is not eternal.
like the rust flaking away,
we begin to see clearly.
the waters fall and wash us all,
until we bleed more clearly.
there is nothing definite,
in a world with an empty defecit.
we're defects, and all we see
can change in the blink of an eye,
and then who will see?
the waters used to be calm,
they used to be right.
but it's a damn shame,
even our skin can betray us.
trust no one, not even your skin.
it will change, and flake off in the wind.
and then we'll see what lies beneath
isn't quite what it should have seemed.