I've taken to piercing my body, when I'm at my worst.
What, you've never felt like losing a little flesh?
It's a little bit of loss
A tiny death.
le petit mort
The death of skin cells is the sweetest.
Just ask the vultures-
Why else would they feast on it so?

They are not war badges or battle scars.
They are circles attaching myself to my soul
A minute weight and reminder
To forget, to remember, to be.
To be as a vulture
To relish in what is found
Not beg for what is not needed.

They are not true predators, vultures.
They rarely ****
Rarely cause harm to the universe.
They are performing a service to you, sir.
Would you prefer to eat your dead yourself?

They never come for me.
They do not care for my skin
They do not care for my tiny death.

Pierce is the perfect word, for the action.
Pierce, meaning stab cleanly.
Pierce, meaning penetrate.
Pierce, meaning sharply, shrilly, briskly.
That's what it feels like.
All-encompassing, for a few sweet seconds.
That's probably the true reason.

Flesh is overrated.
Overabundant.
Perhaps the vultures will come
And take a little from me.
Someday.