People ask why my fingers are bandaged-

I tell them I got them replaced.

People ask why I pick my skin-

I tell them I have nothing better to do.

People suggest I simply stop-

I tell them sure, no problem.


As if it were that easy.


People tell me I should see someone-

I tell them my eyes are too busy.

Peple tell me they have the same problem-

I laugh and tell them yeah, it sucks.

Yet, I struggle to believe we share 

the same burden as they sport their lively

pink cuticles and I struggle to keep the blood

from staining my exam.


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