Mar 23, 2020
caught me again. putting makeup over greyskin. sewing stitches across the holes. “does it ever actually heal?” she says. i look across the room, brush in hand, needle on the counter, thread trailing to the floor.
“don’t know, but it helps them.”
“they still don’t know, do they,” she says.
“no.”
don’t have the heart to tell her i was a zombie long before my skin turned.