A rant of sorts or something

You still howling at the divine,
how's that working for you?
Wake up, piss, sleep, lather rinse 
repeat.
Beat that routine a couple decades more
Like the poor mans puppy,
or a punching bag for lack of a better metaphor; you are a punching bag.
So how much longer 'til the world strips you completely raw?

I'm not raw. 
I can shed a tear 
or sob endlessly into a strangers arms because you know, I'm weak
But I'm not raw. 
I'm not some poor soul without love, some desperate cry in this vast sea heading nowhere. I'm not crimson turning cerulean on the bathroom floor.

I got money, 
you want some money? Got a whole lot of laughs I can shell out too. I'm sorta pretty, here's a picture it'll last longer. My soul is Godless and a little  pretentious
You could use some of that too.
But I'm not raw,
I'm much too young.