Paper Skin

The tissue is white, like paper.
The surface is fragile, like paper.
When tears lurch down my colorless cheeks, they crinkle and rip, like paper.
A mark made on my body is permanent, like paper.
(Good thing paper doesn't have a mind of its own.)
A laceration made is permanent, like paper.
(It can never be repaired, even if folded over or swept under the rug)
However, my skin is not perfect, like paper
(The sharp rectangular outline, the texture-less surface, the white angelic appearance.)
My skin has been written on, like paper.
(A dab of white out won't work this time.)