6. Orchid Skin
[VERSE 1]
A knock hits wood. Cologne hits first.
Mirror catches me; heat climbs fast—anxiety bursts.
Every tremor turns thorn; it remembers his hands on my skin.
PTSD tick-clicks in my throat—mind spins, room spins.
Doorway voice—sharp thread—memories lock to a line—
One figure at my door; old chains bite my spine.
Orchid Skin. I stiffen. Comply.
Tinder date wrote "20"; he shows up forty-five.
Cocaine-buzz bulldozes; he presses; I do some.
Glass grips my face; my jaw starts to drum.
His chatter's a jackhammer drilling through skin,
Every laugh too loud; every grab pulls me in.
My dress snags a splinter; his breath brushes teeth.
The mirror blinks slow. I hold the scream underneath.
[PRE-CHORUS]
Bathroom light. Right eye. I stay.
PTSD taps in my throat—okay.
Hands on the sink; my jaw says "stay."
Orchid skin breathes while the trauma replays.
[CHORUS]
Orchid Skin — anxiety sand, lungs sink in.
Orchid Skin — PTSD, cold clock under my chin.
Orchid Skin — panic hits hard; the room spins.
Hands on the sink; I ride it—I stay.
Right eye steady; count four—don't sway.
Breath back in ribs; I'm here. I'm okay.
[VERSE 2]
Air tastes like pennies—fears crawl.
Fan-hiss above; cold tile crawls—salt-wet tears fall.
Palms slick quick; my vision narrows tight.
Old code boots up; I fade out of sight.
My hallway smells like cocaine sweat and old thoughts;
His laugh stains the rug; I fold and I'm lost.
Flashbacks inside flashbacks—stacked in my head.
This night, those nights, all the words I never said.
I do what he says. My skull goes numb.
The clock in my throat keeps hitting its drum.
I count till sunrise—the cyclone won't stop.
Pretty is a prison with a floral top.
"I need to puke." I say it again.
Ten minutes to pry the door from the man.
I get him out. Lock clicks. I drop to tile.
I gag, I cry; the tremors take a while.
The mirror watches. The orchid breathes.
I strip the blossom; I steady the leaves.
I change the lock. I tend my skin.
Hands on the sink till my own eye lets me in.
[CHORUS]
Orchid Skin — anxiety sand, lungs sink in.
Orchid Skin — PTSD, cold clock under my chin.
Orchid Skin — panic hits hard; the room spins.
Hands on the sink; I ride it—I stay.
Right eye steady; count four—don't sway.
Breath back in ribs; I'm here. I'm okay.
[OUTRO]
Orchid Skin—old fear bites at a knock on my door.
I love this body first; my answer's no more.
