unzip my wrists —
fragile, handle with care.

i am drunk with the thought of them breaking,
resembling quartz veins
down in the mines.

unzip my arms,
this is an enclosure —
it is safe from all-seeing eyes.

unzip my skin —
i am bag of sorrows and bones
waiting to be unpacked
in a new rental room.
the walls are white; the sheets are clean; the flowers are fresh
and i sit in the middle of it all:
a slashed, opened mail
spilling shadows —
like a ghost inside a house.
a parasite inside a host.

unzip my body:

i am strikingly
all things
anti-thetical —
old
dark
ugly
haunted —
a herald of infestation —
here:

the walls are white; the sheets are clean; the flowers are fresh,
the sunset is warm — comforting.
the world spins in a blur.
and i sit quietly, in apprehension,
stuck in the middle of it all.

a ghost.
a prey.

the room is spotless —
i step out of my skin.