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.
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.