Flayed, alive.

[MrMitchieMooMoo]

With a surgeon’s bluff precision
you cut me with your scalpel,
parting my dermis, as
Moses parts the sea,
revealing the glistening,
hidden creatures,
that flap forlornly,
on the newly naked floor.

We lay upon your wood bound
bed, a gurney, moulded to your needs.
Beneath, an ancient gore
collected, of those that had gone before.
Your wrist I grasped in my
slippered fingers,
and pulled your blade still deeper,
to cut the bad seeds out.

You hung, you drew, you quartered me,
and left me out to dry.
Flensed, flayed, and floundering,
acquiescing to my fate.

Later, we walked to
the hidden market,
atop the distant hill,
I dragged my skin behind
me, soil clinging to its pores.
There, I sold it to the highest
bidder, who waltzed my
hide unshackled, away
to distant shores.

It's written beautifully, but i read (or consume anything, for that matter) simply to feel.

Felt like it was ticking a lot of the right boxes, but the power of word is even through abstract symbology, tapping into a deeper resonance with your audience and making them feel. Anything. Just something. A laugh, a wince, a smile, an 'oh yeah, true', a scratch of the head (even better, an implosion of one). The words come across as being vulnerable but there's little authenticity of voice in what i'm reading. Doesn't say anything about you, which i think is important (connecting to your readers, that is).

Just felt a bit cold and 'too perfect', if that makes sense?

It was nicely structured though for sure.