branded

yaoinami

The numbing of my knuckles as they come in contact over and over with the tiles wet from the shower I’m using to try to feel clean again.

Somehow I still feel their hands on me. Fingerprints left like stains, they feel like a birthmark I wish I was never born with but I was never born with it.

Instead I was branded.

They were not something you could wash away, skin deep. I’ve tried to dig them out, believe me 
I tried.

My body is my home and I never invited them in. They threw a welcome party, one that costed me the cleanliness of my own skin.

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