Subcutaneous.

You look at me, like you see under my skin

And my skin – now redundant, crawls

Away to hide.

 

How can those eyes puncture this deeply?

As flat as the glass

That stares but gives nothing back.

 

Yes, I recognise

My secrets painted on that face like signs.

 

You look at me, like me.

You look like me.

 

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