Wed, 10/10/2018 - 17:15 -- varnika

My body is a battleground
And I a scavenger
I gauge my skin 
With hawk's eye
I scan it for imperfections-
And then I prey.
Usually after a long warm bath
When my skin is moist
So it can easily be attacked on
I stand naked
Tick tock runs my brain
Knock Knock says anxiety
I don't like my lips
I slowly bite them
Not with lust
But to chew the upper skin
I don't like the taste
Prolly I don't even register it
It's an obsession
I circle my freckles slowly.
and pick them with my nails
Battlefield smells of blood now
Anxiety has attacked again
It never wants truce
It gains sadistic pleasure 
Out of sight of vultures picking skin of dead.
I comb my hair
But I know they won't remain at place
Thump Thump
Anxiety breaks the door
I start pulling my hair
It happens unknowingly
My hands are in control of my obsession
This compulsion is scary
Scarier are my nails
The adjoining skin is damaged.
So when the condiments of food touch it
Salt is rubbed on wounds
It hurts
It happens all at once
What is scariest?
That those vultures are commanded by me.

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