Ex Skin

Whether solidified in scars or left dead and floating in air, skin is always leaving us.

You came over and drank with me.

We hadn’t seen each other in a while.

We sat with our glasses silently

And studied each other.

 

I saw you see the pink,

Circular remains of wounds on my knuckles,

And your face flooded

With a matching color.

 

You knew it had to be something to do with you.

You knew the red that came into my face

Occasionally,

Especially after I’d been drinking

A few nights in a row.

 

You also knew I saw you

In the dim haze of the bar,

Surrounded by illuminated dust flakes,

And chatting up another man.

 

You put two and two together,

And saw the lamp I’d smashed in my bedroom

In frustration.

 

You saw my fist fly through the fabric of its shade,

As if it were thick air,

And make scarring contact

With the wall on the other side.

 

And the skin of your face flushed with blood.

 

But there was something

That you didn’t see:

 

The flakes of shattered light bulb

Which remained for weeks in my bed-sheets,

And surprised me occasionally with a stab.

Author's Note

I feel like it needs to be a bit longer, but I could use a few other opinions on where to expand it.