PRP – The Poem
by Greg Shalless
Pityriasis Rubra Pilaris
I don’t want to sound too alarmist,
But your skin turns bright red
And in layers is shed –
Who needs this kind of catharsis?
It happens when you’re quite mature
And you lose any sense of allure,
It will no doubt cause tears
And be with you for years,
For there is no known cause or a cure.
Fingers tingling and nails corroding,
Eyelids stinging and you are imploding,
Your hot skin is glowing,
Your dandruff is snowing
And your feet when in shoes are exploding.
Your hands feel like stiffened old leather,
But later on you won’t know whether
To be glad that soon it’ll
Crack up it’s so brittle,
But you try hard to keep it together.
Crispy skin simply falls off your feet
Like the flakes of a fine pastry treat
And the incessant itch
Is a right proper bitch
And your whole blood red body’s on heat.
It’s tough to explain what you’re feeling
When people ask if it’s healing
For your legs and your arms
Like the back of your palms
Are still scarlet and constantly peeling.
They say it’ll pass but can’t tell you when
You see a marked improvement and then
Your new skin gets drier
Is once more on fire
And the whole thing starts over again.
The spread of this thing is pervasive,
And clothing can be quite abrasive,
But if you went “nudish”
Although they’re not prudish,
You’d even make nudists evasive.
Didn’t you thank them – it seems you forgot?
Fifty odd years in the Skin Plant for what?
So your angry storeman
Has just shot the foreman,
And the staff have now all lost the plot!
PRP is quite clearly no joke
And its treatment might well send you broke,
Though they don’t have an answer
You haven’t got cancer
And you’d much rather this than a stroke.
© Copyright Greg Shalless – 2008