I call this one “Substitute”
The winding road home ahead had curled into cursive swears, so prominent they evolved into promises. They’re walked on by this afternoon’s doppelganger, in the mirrors, in the window, you wear my face. The skin was initially bright. Bright as the artificial lights you pranced over, as me cemented in that pristine spotlight or the searchlight I cast. You’re a crimson-lipped woman with a red-deficient interior, sporting my integument. .
Today’s dawn is soaked with the supple bone broth. I down even the bitter tea as a preventative measure. The morning imitation pours outside the ladle. But you can not stay, dormant inside me. You could not return to my dermis.
The daily bathing is sterile. I shed self in strips, in exposure and in search. The scrubbing and whittling. It probes for the residue of my sanitary core.
I was an unprofessional volunteer, to disrupt the tesselation of umbrella, upheld by a crowd. With absolute aim, the acrid rain pricks my cheek. I beg it to strip me sterile. But even biting into my marrow, the bleached bland one is me.
The skinny crescent moon rises. A sliver is cut for the waning devil. The evening hunt grows in hunger with the swelling moon. The perp is found in the budding flower of my outstretched hands. I perceived it through my pupil as frequently as it came. I’ll catch you with a staccato pierce with this frame as my guide.
The luminous chest was pried into by my fingers. A tepid interior buoyant with updraft, the pale heart resembled a bagpipe and the carcass decayed with the brazen sunset glow. If not today, then tomorrow’s substitute has stolen my pristine core.