im unliving. unloving. unlovely, within.
my skin buzzes under
moonlit nights. my fingers dig in.
i ruin myself, over and over.
i peel away
what makes me imperfect,
only to find
that
my sins
always grow back.
i am barely living.
the night peels back
these layers of tentative
satisfaction.
i find my mind naked
underneath the blackness. i lack
the ability to hide.
my barriers are meaningless,
factless,
as they really are.
where do i go to hide from the truth
while under this moonlight?
will i ever be perfect?
will i ever be great?
will i even be good enough?
i know the answer. i know the answer.
and there's nowhere to burrow away from it,
but my fingers find a way.
into my scalp, into my lips,
into my face,
and blood blooms.
i can still feel that.
i can still love that
sharp, stinging, pain.

dig to soothe the obsession.
become acquainted with the bumps
along your scalp,
grimace at the knolls and lumps
and curse the imperfection.
you know what you came here for.
to seek solace from the ache of a brain
by roaming just along its shell.
the pain is hell
but the peel makes it worthwhile.
finally you skim chemical pleasure
with chipped keratin,
physical meets mental
in one scrape of a mining nail.
here in a languid stupor you lay
languishing in a deal between pleasure
and decay.
fade away
while you dig at the earth of your body.

You were never meant to be a
pretty girl.

The adults always said
you were so beautiful as a baby,
had such a natural smile,
had such clear skin,
[what happened?]

You could have been
Beautiful,
but you spurned
Beauty.
Gave her the *******
didn't even try to tame fingers
that ripped yourself apart.

In the end
the adults were right.

There came a day
when you looked at yourself -
really looked,
surveyed the damage
and suddenly
you Cared.

You wanted to slink back to
Beauty,
beg for her forgiveness.

But it's not so easy
and it's not so simple.
You never had the
discipline,
never had the
follow through,
always did have

commitment issues.

So you made a choice.
If you couldn't have
Beauty
you would court
her opposite.

These days you
give the ******* to
Beauty
every time you
dare to look good
while baring your wounds, your scars
like tattoos,
like fine works of art.

These days you
make offerings to
The Grotesque
with your blade
and your blood
and your bits of skin and nails.

And Beauty's opposite
takes them all,
and Beauty's opposite
is easy to please
and

you were never meant to be a
pretty girl.