there's blood drying under my nails and i can still taste the blood in my mouth
i keep scratching and clawing at myself
a self-induced appearance of leprosy without the actual disease
i'm biting my lips, my mouth, my nails
there are strips and chunks of my own flesh sticking in my throat
i guess you could say it's a bit ironic that i'm choking on myself, that i'm slowly turning myself inside out
maybe if i just scratch harder, scrape faster
(scratch and sniff but with flesh and blood)
god i need to see open wounds I need to open every single bump in my skin
i yank out my hair and eat the skin off my fingertips but it's ok i don't need it
i claw open the side of my face and i don't need it, i don't need any of it
i need to smell blood, to touch it, taste it
i tripped and scraped my knee open and let me tell you i savored that moment
i hate getting hurt but i love the aftermath
sore throbbing fingers and blood in my mouth that's what i live for
jesus bled from every pore and i envy him
i'm a monster but the only one i'm killing is myself so it doesn't really matter
i don't really matter
maybe if i scratch enough i'll dig a better person out of this skin and maybe they won't smell like death
maybe they will be whole and maybe they'll be able to stand it
one, two, three new scabs on my shoulders, my neck, my face
one, two, three scars on my arms, my legs, my back
i'm no vampire but i still need blood on my hands and it's sure as hell not innocent blood because it's mine
one of these days i'm going to fall apart and i mean that literally
gnawing on my own bones will take it's toll i'm going to collapse in a pile of my own organs and i'm going to enjoy it
it will smell like blood
this poem was originally not about autocannibalism but now it is very much so I don't even know what happened