The cracks

Lines in my skin

They peel away, leaving fresh

New skin underneath

They shouldn't see it; no, it's hidden

But they do

And I fight the urge to draw

To drag it closer

To pull harder

Because they need to see.

Between my fingers it rests

Sticky, like cherry juice

Would they that it was cherry juice!

For they know it is nothing of the kind

As it slips into their skin

Wreaks its revenge on the inside

They never feel again; I'll make sure of that

But for now

There is only me

Me and my head. It's getting crowded.