In My Skin

In My Skin

Colonies of ants are gnawing at my right foot. They spare the arch of the foot but avidly chew on the soft area under the toes and on the heel. My foot is burning.

Then nothing along my leg. The ants are gone, so are all sensations. It feels empty, or rather numb like after a local dental anaesthetic.
The thigh is the only parts of my body that seems to belong to me. But appearances are deceptive. It reacts but to an invisible force, shaken by spasms, regular, painful, constant…
All these distorted feelings have inhabited me for so long. They are my constant reminder that something else has invaded my body. But despite the acute pain of the spasms, what I fear most is the numbness. I never particularly liked the shape of my body but I always enjoyed the sensations it gave me.
The muscles that contract in an effort or lengthen and stretch to loosen tension, little by little.
The warmth of a hand before it even touches me. The skin that shivers…
All these beautiful sensations giving pleasure, establishing me in my own body and guiding me are slowing escaping me. I’m afraid to get lost.
So as you slip out of a wetsuit, I unzip and take off my undesirable skin. I’m left alone. The invisible invader is gone, just for the length of a dream.

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