It Doesn’t Wash Off.

It Doesn’t Wash Off.

It was coming from the inside. The poison had slid out onto the pores of my flesh.

No matter how hard I press my hands across my face. No matter the soap or rock I pelt at my visage. Nothing is going to peel off the ugly that stains me. I knew who to thank. I see her everyday in my mysteries and my ears flinch at sounds that first feel like rats. Yet I knew it could only be her. Why did I allow this wreckage? Now that I am a cripple, I ask myself everyday. Why, did I let this happen? I didn’t. Murder isn’t approved of in certain corners of the world so as any civilized man would do, I committed suicide by proxy.

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