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the bottom line about why I pick
Picking, squeezing, scraping; desperate futile attempts to remove the darkness; unwanted ugly that resides beneath; that which doesn’t belong, what holds me back. Breaking skin now, under layers of flesh raw and pink drawing blood, punishing war crimes never reconciled The face in the mirror is the victim, the despised but it’s not me, the mutilated, abused reflection. Seemingly a stranger. In control for once, I, the abuser, the punisher now permitted to rage, permanent blows to the delicate science of veins and cells and glands ruptured. take that and that and that. Feeling satisfied, I can breath again. then in awe I step back in disgrace reality comes into the light of those actually wounded in this twisted fight. Irritated, swollen, bleeding, exposed, feeling victimized and violated once again at my own doing. Doing my best to then conceal the new wounds, the old wounds, the pain, the newly forming scars allowing me to face the world so I can think I am fooling them all from seeing what I already know.
In reply to In the mirror I see someone by betterlife7