Excoriation Dissorder

 
Unconsciously picking at imperfections in skin
Having thousands upon thousands of tiny scars
A body of constellations of marks; of history
The hidden depth of the urge to pick
It starts off slow... As most things tend to do
Scratching off scabs from those minor wounds
Peeling off those skin bits around the nails
Tugging the chapped skin off the bottom lip
Popping and tearing open ache on the face
Over aggressively riping out ingrown hair
Not being able to look in a mirror too long
Not being able to keep nails longer than a few centimeters
Owning...so...so many different kinds of tweezers
Knowing how many different kinds of tweezers there are
Trying to keep the dulled nails from picking
From scratching at the upper arms or elbows
Trying to ignore the imperfect lip skin
Trying so...so fucking hard not to drag that nail over a healing wound
Looking for a way to pull and tug the thin scab
On the left shoulder... The one that isn't ignorable
As if mocking how it is marring that section of skin
Constantly struggling not to spiral into a frantic state
Trying not to lose control and find the sharp tweezers
And dig every fucking imperfection out of the skin
Holding those nails tightly into the palm
Hard enough to leave bruises and dents
Trying so hard to clear the mind of these thoughts
Of the urge to make this flesh prison feel pain
For being so...damn...fucking....imperfect