poetry

Bloodied Nails

It will start
With an absent-minded picking,
Tearing away the skin
Long dead and dry.
I will then pause
To admire my work
And consider the dirt
Beneath my nails.
It’s disgusting.
They should be cleaned.
But I’ll leave my nails
To grow,
And eventually chew on them
Until they bleed.
Then I’ll suck
On them, to staunch
The flow of blood
And then
I’ll take a blade
To my finger tips
And carve off
The unsightly flesh.
The self-mutilation will then
Leave me feeling refreshed,
And the gory mess
Begins to look
Beautiful.

And with beauty being
Of the utmost importance,
I’ll take the blade to my face;
To my gut;
To my backside
And to my legs.
Like a woodworker
To his new piece of art,
I’ll rend the undesirable
From my body.
I’ll scrape the blade against my skin,
Delighting
In gravity’s game
Against the fallen strands.
And in the stinging
Of this newly raw skin,
I’ll derive a sense of euphoria;
A sense of the approaching perfection.

Am I beautiful?
No.
Not yet.

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5 thoughts on “Bloodied Nails

  1. Pingback: ernesto | listentothebabe

  2. Disturbing. But realistic as so many people cut and pick. Disturbing but also sad, and unfortunate the person is scarring themselves to find relief and euphoria. Perhaps they should try another method?

    Like

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