Tunneling Above the Pulse of Vision (Revised)

Not sure if poem is cohesive.

It doesn't hurt me there,

the places you don't touch me-

because

I know now

we are

just moments away

from dying.

Alive

it lands upon my hand;

diaphanous eyes,

tissue black-tearing wind,

learning to break inside my skin,

leaving no bruises on the air,

breathing blood through

each dreamed incision

leaving wings,

a lighter body,

broken free,

earth's darkness opens

reaching,

born alone.

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Monkeys: There are no monkeys here. If you're looking for monkeys, go away. Well, actually there are monkeys, but they're of the hairless variety that writes poetry and such. If that's not what you're looking for move along.