For you have disordered my bones.
My organs too have been pummelled and bruised.
My skin, still glistening with effort,
You flayed and stripped,
Meticulously, thin line by thin line by thin line,
And hung it up to dry.

My thoughts, my little scraps, you flung about,
Causality and consequence dismissed,
An Escher-land circling ever inward.

I cannot identify myself
The pieces do not fit

And
Anyway

There is no key