My Internal Torture

Picking Scratching Pulling Tearing The nail leaves two marks. It stings slightly. I know I did good. I peel the broken skin away and watch the blood rush. Onto the next. It won't stop. I can't stop. Leaving scars, one right after the other, like a circle, this cycle is endless. I put my hands to my face dig in as deep as I can go, and drag my fingers down. Prying the flesh from my face, I scream inside. Nobody sees it -the scars- -the marks- -my disease. To them, I'm narcissistically ignorant. But if you focus like I, you will be disgusted like I.