Skin tingling.
Scratch.
Pick.

Claw marks
a bright burgundy against fair skin.

It’s happening again.

It’s a violent urge.
An uncontrollable compulsion.

It’s bleeding skin and
it’s I want to stop but
it’s I can’t
and I won’t.

My hands are the
enemy
but it’s hard to win a
battle
against something
attached
to your own body.

Taped fingers do
nothing but
irritate.

A temporary fix for
a permanent problem.

Nowhere is safe.
Every piece of skin is
equal opportunity.

Distractions
don’t exist
in this world.

Nothing can stop these
hands and
it hurts to try.

A compulsion ignored
is like
pins and needles
across your
whole body.
It’s sitting still

shaking

unable to think of
anything else.

And so I–pick.
Scratch.
Run sharp claws
across soft skin.