hell under my flesh | poem

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i am known

to pick 

at everything


i will pick at the skin on my hands

and around my nails

till they are raw

and sting with each move

that i make


i pick at my lips

and the skin on my face

till all the effort that

i put in

to keep myself 

presentable


is worth

next to nothing


i wish 

that i could

pick

pick

pick

till there is nothing left of me 

-n.c

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