When we walk only in skin,
Our secrets seep like acid,
dripping though the pores
on the tongue of a teenager.
It stays with you forever.
The secrets are a poison, hell-bent
on bringing an end to anything
of promise.
He walked only in skin,
he thought his secret was concealed,
hidden in a shoe box, buried in the closet,
oblivious to the scarlet letter across
his chest, spelling out his sins for the
world to see.
Only in skin, as he makes his way back home.
Church bells explode in the distance, 2 am,
his wife would surely be asleep.
He walked only in skin, up a darkened,
dead-end street.
His house is now in view; to his surprise,
light pours from the windows as if Heaven
were pulled down into the neighborhood.
Only in skin, he walks through the open door.
The living room is in the kitchen,
and the kitchen is on top of the living room.
and everything is covered in piss.
He is sick with worry; was his wife okay?
Only in skin, he makes his way up stairs.
He calls out to her, screaming her full name,
To no avail.
He goes to the bedroom, and everything is
GONE.
Her clothes, her jewelry, even their bed.
In place of her jewelry box, a note.
The secrets had embalmed his marriage.
Only in skin, for the whole world to see,
He is alone.
Trying to fight back tears, he puts on
some clothes. He goes to the liquor
cabinet and drinks until he cannot
feel feelings.
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