Skin Disease

My father always tells me to keep my hands on the side

“Don’t touch your face, don’t run them through your arms.”

I was well aware that gazing at the sun would run red to the surface

I know well enough how fast my scratches bled.



Sometimes I’d still expect otherwise, it never hurts, it won’t bleed

So I dig the round edges of my nails deep against my skin and run it

A presence lingers but it was never pain, I look scourged but I don’t mind

I look at the mirror and see drizzles of blood spreading across my face

“Things are not as bad as they look.” is all I said.