i’ve been picking scabs again. opening unhealed sores, scratching the skin off my back, infecting old wounds. sometimes, i just lose track of my fingers. they wander around my body, digging into any imperfection they find, until i’m left with blood covered fingertips. until i’m left feeling like a disfigured monster with razor sharp claws. i dont want to be like this anymore. the whole act is more than self-defeating. what a relief is it to rip the irregularities off of my body until i see what i replaced them with. now i’m just digging at scars of old scars. all i want is my control back.