You ask “What happened?”

My mouth goes dry.
My brain fogs over.
And I don’t know what to say.
I pull down my shorts.
Past my knees.
Hiding my shame.
Hoping the mere action will allow enough time,
To pass and you'll forget you asked a question.

“Are you scratching yourself again?”

And you give me an out.
The darkness of the night,
The only light from the fire.
Hiding my true shame
The depth and scar tissue only shadows.
And the multitude of scars hidden,
By the darkness.
And you answer for me.

So I say “Yes, not on purpose.”

A half truth.
I don’t Mean to, until I do.
I don't mean to, until I need to.
And I’m reminded of why I have to hide.
Because questions freeze my tongue.
And I’m ashamed enough for everyone.