pt1
I see the crevices where my mind has changed route
Where the blood has stopped flowing and changed direction
To kill off the illusion of rage and hypocrisy
There’s a skin shed in the corner of the room
no one speaks of it but me
Who’s skin is that? Who was left so empty?
I cry and point and stammer on revealing my weakness
Telling them I can only be human and nothing more
Not a god, not a demon, but the pattern of survival
And the louder I plead the looser the skin
til it falls to the floor
Just like that one in the corner
then a sliver of light shines between the curtain
-Saschia Johnson
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