Soft peach - easily broken, an endless
film of tissues enclosing me in a
stranger’s body; it clings to my form in
an attempt to show who I, the stranger,
wish to be, it is lying – behind which
you will find an infinite lump of white,
a misshapen mess of unlovable
monstrosity evoking a wailing
symphony of insecurities; this
white is foreign; as are the reds who so
earnestly insist on fuelling this grand
corpse, forcing me forward until I can
no longer continue… I’m awaiting
the day that happens: the day my rigid
white frame eventually snaps, ossein
scaffolding imploding beneath layers
and layers of pale tissues, destroying
years of complex creation. Amid this
tower of flesh I sit, a prisoner.

My borrowed atoms are a pulpy pink
labyrinth of thoughts and insecurities;
I am held hostage in the cave of a
stranger. Here I reside, watching, helpless
as once more the silver pierces the peach,
its incisions leaving soft pink scars that
shimmer in the light as time ticks its tock.
I watch this stranger go about her life,
Clueless to how I might escape. And yet

You ask if I am okay?