Crawl out of your skin
Does that make us complicit
In the slow unadulterated
Murder of self
A taking apart
As such
An itch that can’t seem
To be scratched
Unless it is broken and pulled
And left open
To the air
Inviting all that could infect
In
With open arms
To bed down and linger
And rot
Or does it makes us
Human
As we choose to love
All you seek to destroy
Yet fail to prevent
The world from crushing
Life weary bones
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