Misalignment

Its Sunday, I am nude, standing in front of a mirror
I open the newspaper and it reflects the wide cracks of skin, as if am printed on it.
My body, not so glam
My passionate soft tender outer covering, tossing to the spread out paper
I cant read, I am uneducated
My organs do well, knows what lust is
I project self, as a horse would do grass, to devour
Lowering, in ebb
The paper, so unpleasant, as I rid it away from mouth, gooeyed with cum
Puzzled, flicking, one thing to another
I am strange
Dazed and numbed, each object ricochet inside my drum
Oh my bastardization, makes so little of me