painted red,
smudged and used
with holes, scratches.
Like the ones on my back,
chest, arms.
My thighs.
The same colors worn
when I pulled my body
from its hold.
The same colors running down the drain.
Scalding water isn’t hot enough
to clean this shell
of it stains.
Even as it peels away flesh.
Raw, fresh, and red
it is still foul--
rotting from poison
seeping from the inside
out.