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Prose Poems by Cecilia
I am as deep as an ocean..."
Dead skin all around me. Blood dripping down my arm and splattering on my knee, drips down my thigh. I scratch and scratch. Knowing this so not normal yet completely familiar. I look at those pretty girls with the skin so smooth and taut and I have conversations about random, non-important, somewhat amusing topics and I know the looks of horror that would appear on their faces if they knew that this morning I was sitting in my bathtub trying to soak and exfoliate enough to climb into my car and bend enough to pick something up, scratching, with dead skin all around me. Blood dripping down my arm and splattering on my knee, drips down my thigh. and I talk to them with 3 or 4 Band-Aids strapped to my calf. The Achilles ... going up. No, I wont take them off 'till I get home. I'll just scratch around them. I pray: please let someone else not suffer, maybe two, because I am suffering enough for several people on this given day. And while the tub fills up that evening and I rip the Band-Aids off, blood again pouring down the back of my lower legs, I think, another dead skin and bloody bath. I can't wait to finish so I can put the glycerin on and cross my legs. I love crossing my legs.