What is that?
A smell, not just bad it’s sticky
Collecting on the bottoms of my shoes
Stalking my steps
Seeping into my fiber

Its dank syrup stains my sleep
Leaving me restless
Tossing, turnt into this stink bereft
Without even the refuse of dreams

As sharp as bone shards
Relentless as a headache
Burrowing into my temples’ sweet meat
Has anyone has noticed the coppery blood smell?

Then I remember that
I hide in plain sight
Behind my jemina mask

Durability masquerading as strength
sadness congealed into sickly stench
Let me camouflage with pharmaceuticals
The artful chameleon

No one can see me
Let alone scent my secrets

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