Faded Line Itch

The pharmacy window, glass so cold,

showed me my arm, my shoulder's bend.

The lines I'd bought, now years old,

a story I can't quite un-end.

A sudden itch, right on the blue-black line,

where the ink has blurred, just a touch.

A small, sharp rise, a goosebump sign,

a feeling I remember much.

This skin, it holds the choice I made,

part of me, but not quite mine.

A faded map, a light parade

that burns beneath this outer design.

It's just an itch. It passes fast.

But leaves the feeling, raw and deep.