Afterwards

And after my shower.

My skin still screams,

Tiny bugs or Anxiety’s buzz?

I continue to cower,

Under these layers

Of haze and emo bangs.

Self-sacrificing, yet dour.

I scrub and scrape,

My spine quakes alongside sciatic shakes.

Has my heart been devoured?

Annexed to nothingness?

Callous like Xanax?

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