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I am Excoriation
January 13, 2016
Can't focus.
Hand drifts.
Touching hair.
Making rips.
The bumps are triggers,
they make me manic.
If I can't pick,
I start to panic.
I don't know why,
but I can't make myself stop.
There's a hair always to pull
or a bump to try to pop.
Sometimes I make them up,
in my own messed up head.
Blood creeps from my wounds,
and my nails end up red.
© Andrew M., Apple Valley, MN
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I have been struggling with excessive impulse skin picking for a long time now. This was a release poem I made to try to avoid doing it.