Dear ghost,
I grimace at the worms that creep in my skin. I fear they will see the grotesque image of it crawling under my olive skin. These worms of my insecurity beget summer of my sorrows. It is the cause of my seclusion. It's the woes of my art. It's why I cannot walk away from the cave.
There are scars in my body as price of my negligence- the negligence born from my sloth. I am still searching for an ointment that will dispell this curse.
I know of such elixir that will chase the insects but I haven't found the cauldron to bubble the potion.
I am still sleeping in the library. I am still dreaming about tattooing a pattern of poetry that shall cover this scars. Therefore, the scars have yet to heal.
Yours even as i fear to be.