This covering, this wrapper I’m within,
This barrier to infection,
Protector, keeper of my guts,
Holding everything in,
Stopping it spilling on the floor
And from pouring me away
Is under attack, night and day
Infected, itchy, red, rough
Sore, dry, cracked and broken skin
A delicate tracery of lines
A network of flaking pieces
Layers to be picked and peeled
Revealing bare tissue below,
Bleeding into the crevices,
Creases, valleys and folds
Between fingers and toes,
Dry hair, crumbling nails
Leaving ever-shrinking islands
Of still-working epidermis
Pattern of good and bad,
Webbing of rough, bubbling blisters
And lesions on limbs and torso
Rubbing, scratching, stroking,
Smoothing, soothing,
Bathing, seeking brief respite
Tiny blisters bursting, erupting
Spreading further poison
Throughout the system
Oily ointments, greasy creams
Emollient treatments
Penetrating dermic strata
With cellular, capillary action
Absorbed within
No escape from this atopic body
Torture-chamber of a thousand cuts
Prisoner of painful pathology
Chronic, never-ending condition
Making forever unthinkable
Any contact with another warm body
Copyright Andy Fawthrop 2012
No comments:
Post a Comment