Untitled VIII

My end-of-summer sunburn peels off in sheets
but the lower skin is the same red and freckled color as the surface.
I thought this sloughing would gradually reveal some truth
layers in a tree marked by fire and drought
but skin is all just skin.

I am nothing but tissue and
my wounds are phantoms
restless, unceasing
decades throbbing to my daily rhythms
but impossible to find.

Written by Annie Jadin, speakingvoiceless.wordpress.com.

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4 thoughts on “Untitled VIII

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