I can never look at myself in the mirror for very long. I see my cheeks morphing and melting down the mirror, I touch my face and feel the tears streaming down. Maybe if someone else touched me it would feel real. I want to feel real again. My eyelids have begun to peel from crying so often, the palms of my hands cracked and my cuticles peeling down to my knuckles. I feel as if I could unzip myself right here in front of the mirror. Maybe I'd like what's underneath better. Maybe we could try again. I could lend you my skin just to keep you warm in the cold. Maybe it's just a coincidence that I liked the way it looked on you, or Maybe it means I don't hate my skin maybe it just means I hate what's under it. I haven't felt the same since you left, returned my skin but left your scent underneath it. I get whiffs of your perfume when I bleed, feel you leaking out of me. I can still feel you inside of me. Take that how you will. You've been everywhere. Your name carved inside my ribs, claiming one for yourself. If god ever started over I pray he chooses me, I already have a rib ready to make you all over.
