Obsessive Scraping

Nails, dotted with cracked neon-colour,

Dragging up and down, opening old scars,

So that they disappear into a rising nest of welts,

And tiny smears of blood are wiped across the surface,

Skin littered with flakes of nail-varnish.


Angry, frustrated,

Too stubborn to give a damn,

About the irritating stinging,

Which only serves as a medal for pain-achievments.

I've drawn some blood, I've forced myself to feel something.



The End

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