Marks of the Flesh

I’ve got this itch inside of me

Years have gone by with no respite, despite repeated attempts to dig underneath

Rows of scars line the flesh like cornfields

the crops have dried and all that remains are wilted husks waiting for rain

Sometimes I crave to walk into the flood

once the gates open, nothing can stop the gush as it flows forth, carrying the dying in its sweet release

They say as you submerge yourself, the body gasps in shock, responding to liquid seeping in place of stale air

Oh how I wish to feel something, anything other than this itch

Maybe I’ll open the flood gates and cut a little deeper this time…

 

Author’s Words for Thought

“In case you didn’t know, dead people don’t bleed. If you can bleed-see it, feel it-then you know you’re alive. It’s irrefutable, undeniable proof. Sometimes I just need a little reminder.” -Amy Efaw

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