Shedding skin Obsessing over the vast continent of my ever changing skin. It pins me down like weighted cloth, the heavy scent of decay takes me back to places I've been before. My hair primed to promiscuous pink, I fought for my right to be invincible. My breasts bathed in gold glitter, running through town throwing flippant colours of youth in vacant faces. As casual commitments were cashed in, I constructed interchangeable masks. Heavy black eyeliner streaked across my disguise, painting false promises in honour of the transience of time. Echoes of sinister shadows haunt me, ghosts caught in strobe light. Guarding my small bucket of scars I sit content on the shelf up high where grasping fingers cannot grab me. Memories like flash photography force marks on my skin to spill my story. Map-readers eyes scan purple valleys, bruised by birth. Fingers trace indigo brandings, tattoos declaring tribalism once striven for. The rise and fall of my womb stretching left me observing the pummelled pillows on my chest. Gold glitter replaced with small pink lines tracking the ticking clock. Comfortable under my weighted cloth absorbing alcoholic medication. A brazen examination of my exposed flesh leaves me bathing in burgundy glasses full of loosened tongues. Trailing the threads of rebel tales, foreplay to carry on the oral tradition. Waiting to unravel into obliging hands, hopelessly taunting passing scribes as the seams of my stories unwind.