eyes
sometimes, wounds gape and look like they're looking back at you. do you think they judge me? do you think those eyes and mouths that i put purposefully lay across my own body feel anything about their own existence? they're watching, they're always looking out. more and more of them pop up. does the flesh remember? or is it just your brain? i guess, in the end, scar tissue is a form of memory, no? it knows. it had to do something about it. do you think it hates me? i already hate me enough, but sometimes it feels like my own body hates me even more than i ever could.
"When everybody's having fun, I start thinking, like... what if it all changed tomorrow, you know? Stuff like that."