She said she feels like she’s standing naked in front of a three way mirror.
“The gooseflesh ripples
The light cast makes your skin look green
Makes you feel damn reptilian,” she said
Could I shed my skin?
Bend my ex-skeleton?
She shakes her head and opens her mouth and only croaks escape.
All I can do is state the obvious.
“You look like a wreck.”
She says, “ I feel like something’s eating right through me and soon enough it’ll bust on through.”
Does your stomach ache and burn?
Or does twist in knots?
She glances at me and then shrugs as if apathy is the answer to everything
Then she stares up to the ceiling and says, “I hardly know it’s there. All feel is in my head. In my head….”
There’s nothing unique in my reply but I find comfort in the cliché.
“What did he do to you? What did he do?”
She says nothing and the pause is pregnant
I can hear the shifting of fabric as we both fidget
And I find myself clutching her, even as she holds me back
But I feel her take my hand
I want to tell her I know too well, I know too well…