Skin by Rania

Posted on February 10, 2013 by

1


        i.        I spent nights asleep in the arms of a devil       I kissed the lips of my own killer      I held the hand that pulled the trigger

       ii.       You slid thorns into my palms and put dynamite between my fingers. Every time I buried my face in my hands it would destroy me.

iii.     Why did I tell you I loved you? Why did I tell you I loved you? Why did I tell you I loved you?

iv.      You spread on the surface of my skin like a disease, feeding off of any warmth until I was left with nothing but coldness. Now, you are decaying and I am trying to find a way to shed my skin and grow it back again.

v.       I’ve always wanted to pull myself open like a curtain, and show you everything you never see. I wanted to show you how my lungs swell up, when I hear my name, coming out of your mouth. But once I did, you ripped my heart out of my chest and left me screaming. Left my voice echoing in the dead of night, where you had left me. Stripped out of my skin. I was nothing.

vi.     The moment I agreed to go out for sushi with you was the moment I dug my own grave.

vii.         The first time we had a fight, I threw dishes on the ground. I should have told you I also wanted to break your heart. But I stayed quiet and watched you leave. I was biting my tongue so hard it started to bleed.

viii.           I was well aware that you were reason behind all these scars on my arm. Why did I want more?

ix.          For years I lived in a burning house. Every word you spoke was a puff of smoke I inhaled. You lit matches and placed them under your tongue, slipping them into my mouth every time you kissed me. Now I am in flames. You’re watching me turn into ashes.

x.       Come claim what is left of me.

xi.         Stars were arranged into constellations on my skin before I met you. I was whole and composed. You took that away. You pulled the string out of me and left me scattered on our marble floor like beads.

xii.        The coffee is getting cold, in the room where I once thought love was real.

xiii.          Maybe one day, these wounds will spread themselves into a map, and take me home. Maybe one day, I’ll take these blisters and use them as proof that I lived through the storm. That I have fought for the one thing I’ve always believed in.

xiv.       Can I still give, or have you taken that away from me too?

xv.       My skin still silently weeps out of starvation to touch yours. The glimpse of a sea in your eyes makes me want to drown. Kill me. I don’t mind.

 

xvi.        I forgive you       

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