i.
mine is scarred and diseased, fleas find home in the crevices, drink my blood like wine and ride my stretchmarks like a river. i can see them in their tiny rafts with their tiny wineglasses living only because i'm living; i'd like to kill them at the source. around my ankles it's warfare; they leave land mines that turn into boils, scars. when i'm lying down i'm free game, most of the time they struggle climbing my thighs.
ii.
i can't tell the difference between herpes and flea bites sometimes. the doctor told me they were flea bites but the scrape came back positive. i try to scrub them off but they just bleed, flaking off when they want to; sometimes days, sometimes weeks. it wouldn't be too bad if people didn't treat me like a leper, it only hurt the first time, like sex is supposed to.
iii.
skin falls off at all angles leaving a paper trail when i don't want people to know where i have been. i tear up mirrors for fun, use the edges to peel off the itching layers. even my skin hates itself-- builds a new unsatisfactory layer before the last one is dead. it's equivalent to pushing it out a window.
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