Lethal Orange Poem by Cherie Mort

Itch. Scratch. I can't relax
My body feels like it's vibrating
I'm shaking like I've got a seizure
Juice runs down my arm, and little red welts pop up where it lands
My nails claw furiously at my flesh, tearing off the sticky residue as fast as I can
''Get off, get off, get off, '' I mutter over and over to myself
I'm so itchy I feel like my body is covered in poison ivy
I turn redder than a tomato as I scratch and claw my skin off
Finally, I remember how to skin a rabbit
You start from the feet up, like you're wearing a pair of footie pajamas, or longjohns
And then remove the fur
Rolling my skin into a ball, I toss it in the washing machine
Waiting for it to get rid of my allergy
I wait and shiver
I think I'm catching a bone-chilling cold
I wait a little more, then put it in the dryer
Delicate cycle
I don't wanna bake this, I've only got one to wear
It's better if it's drycleaned, but there's no tag explaining how to wash skin
After a few minutes, I peek at it
It's nice and warm and clean
No more orange juice on it
No little fruity fibers cling to it, either, which is nice
I sigh as I melt back into my skin
It always feels weird, doing this
But at least my throat isn't in danger of closing anymore
It's like having a tunnel collapse on a train
Just don't tell mom I forgot oranges could kill
She'd freak out more than anything
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I heard a scream
I think she just looked in the washing machine
I forgot that skin stains