the same dead skin that flecked onto my face made the hair that frames my cheekbones. My beard echoes your hands, how they once cupped me. You sauntered up to me, skin starved and hungry, I could tell by your wolf teeth. Still, my lips curled into your moony grin, the man I wanted to be, to be with. I thought I could be part of your life. I tought you were gonna try. You said "I've never seen a smaller man, took me in with clamy hands, snared in sheets, you were holding something in. Then around five am a fist whispered across me. You said "I'm not so good with trusting and I can't have anyone knowing that this is the real me. So here's the real me." When you struck me, was that when you began leaving flecks of you on my cheeks? Was that when you planted seeds?
I decided I'm scraping you off of my face today, the caress of dead skin that frames these eyes, so tired, of your shitty point of views, they'll end in fists that leave you. I'll kiss your mask goodbye with a razor blade. The cold water rinse, wringing in new skin, calling me back in, there's never been a madder man, I am growing, I am new and building stronger layers without you.
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