She sits alone, peeling off the skin from her fingers.
She’s getting ready for bed.
She’s toned to an extreme pink, still bleeding for the most part.
She’s crawling in.
Her peeled skin settles, dries up, and vanishes. They still linger.
Her bed is now soaked with red.
Her hands twitch, pondering over her choice of art-
to show what’s within.
She lets her hands entwine- far enough from reaching the trigger.
She cries and prays and bows her head.
She has no reason- she has her unattended heart.
So she peels off her skin.
I try to stop her.