Splayed fingers, hidden rings.

Poetry 1995–96

Skin

my skin betrays me,
i lie inside,
try and tell myself i'm smooth,
shiny; beads of water
roll off me in silence.

the itches i feel,
i can't touch,
can't scratch myself in case
i tear myself apart.
my skin betrays me.

it lets them surface
with no honour.
forced into false relief
i touch my flesh;
my voice is silent.