Everyday I scratch my fingers nonstop.

My cuticles, torn to shreds, crack and bleed.

I tug and tear and rip away the skin.

It stings, each and every time it stings.

Everyday I pick my sensitive skin.

I trace over grooves and bumps feather light,

Then dig deep into the blemishes there.

It aches and it burns and I know its wrong,

I must force myself to keep breathing deep.

Ignore the constant itching in my brain.

Leave it be. Bandage it up (Over scabs)

I beg and I plead with myself to stop.

Have you ever had such an itch before?

I beg my own forgiveness as I scratch.

The itch won’t go away, I know that now.

I pick and I pick and I pick and I—