If my scars could be washed away with soap and hot water, I would be flawless.
I would stand under the scalding water of my shower, watching the blood and tears that are my scars flow freely from my body and down the drain.
Away from me.
I would scrub my body until it was crimson from the heat and friction.
I would become a mass of salty bubbles.
I would breather in the steam, and exhale the pain.
I would soak my drenched body until my pores screamed with nakedness.
I would become absorbed in my ecstasy.
My hair would be plastered to my face and neck, afraid to move lest the dream be awoken.
I would be frozen in time, content to forever be safe and clean.
Yet, as the water evaporates, so does the dream.
The chill causes my skin to crawl.
Causes my hair to sway in the breeze.
I would have to remove myself from my blanched prison.
I would stand, letting the last of my flaws dissipate into the air.
I would drape my glowing body with midnight cotton.
I would brave the world, until next the scars were too much.
Until next I would again wash them away with hot water and soap, peeling away the layers of my life, until I become pure again.