She sat there, chewing on a piece of dead skin

She sat there, chewing on a piece of dead skin.

Her fingers were raw, the cuticles pushed back, forward, up, down

The chafed skin, smoothed ridges and puckered holes- thick grooves filled with scabby colored flesh

Some edges were quiet

Others kept running because they couldn’t stop

When she was a child, she would always fall and the skin would tear

Cry, cry, cry and the salty tears vanished into the dying lights of summer

Yesterday night, her sewing kit broke

The Sun did not rise