Holy Guacamole
Friday, August 28, 2009
skin
Staring at the skin
on the backs of my hands.
Thinned.
Blotched.
Creased.
Scarred.
Wrinkled.
Remembering
the tautness of skin,
the brightness of youth.
Never once thinking
that I'd arrive here so soon.
It's not quite depressing
just a slight sense of doom.
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