There’s a mark on my skin,

A stain or some Thing.

Those near me are curious,

They start to lean in.

 

It’s sticky and wet,

Feels good to the touch.

But as time goes by,

They don’t like it so much.

 

It cracks and grows sharp,

More seen, less discreet.

Every space in the room,

The mark screams on repeat.

 

Dries up – it needs water,

Not worth the invest.

Nor hassle – no return,

Left alone to ingest.

 

Self-sufficient a corpse,

Now full of itself.

The sound of one’s own,

Is no good for one’s health.

 

The mark is now silent,

Bloomed from black to red.

The mark is no longer,

Some Thing else there instead.

 

It’s new but familiar,

Chiral stains as it spins.

They lean in once again,

To form sisters – not twins.

 

This stain loves company,

It sings for me and you.

There’s some Thing on my skin.

And some Thing on yours, too.

 

A poem I wrote. Think Dr. Seuss but creepy and cute!

 

– GOOD GRIEF / DXXXRK