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My skin spread itself across my skull- face tight, taught, grey so that when I smiled a little tear started along the edge each time ripping a little more until my ear was hanging lopsided down and all I could hear was from the inside out. I asked you- quietly, trying not to move a muscle afraid my face would crumple and skin would slide off like a snake in the summer -do you hear? You took a second handled it carefully in such fragility it came and shook your head, no. I was surprised -not with your reply- but that your head didn't roll off as you shook it. My eyes must have betrayed my wonder for you began a long monologue, how normal are the sounds I am the sanest of them all, I really didn't pay much mind, too busy trying not to think so hard that my brains would push out my eyes and take down my face. Then I'd have no skin at all and my true self would lie exposed to the deadly light and air. by Jennifer Steinfeldt |
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