My body lacks scars.

Besides blemishes and mishaps,

I appear clean.

But I feel your breath on my shoulders and while it's just air it feels like the weight of one thousand lives.

I feel where your hands have touched me

-you left trails like a slug

And while they are not visible

I feel your slime and I retch in disgust.

I don't know how but you left scars on my brain matter that no amount of apothecaries can cure

-their most nostalgic remedies can't paint you in a good light

I wish I could shed this skin, like the locust that I am.

For I am a plague, the bible itself told me.

Why you would waste your time to implement marks on something so unworthy…

I don't bother myself to figure out.