no one talks about how it itches.

it burns it stings it stains

theres little streaks of shame 

on the back of my pillow case

as if I could hide it 

when its that close to my brain.

I think I need to put peroxide on it

a bandage?

guilt clogs the drain

but god it freaking itches,

the infection hides the shame.

This poem is about: 
Our world


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