If it’s burning then it’s working
So grit your teeth and bear it
But if I push wider, harder, deeper
I’ll reach the
center of something cursed
Weave my fingers through bloody rivers
Scratch it out! Claw it
out!
Wrench the dead fistful from my head
Another carcass to the ever-growing cluster
Organic dust littering the ground
I’ve shed more skin than I have tears
Mournful
prognosis from molted snowfall
DNA on everything I’ve ever touched
Cyclical compulsion on my
shoulders
Get it off, get it off, get it off!
I’ll free my sins from my own skin
Or
I’ll gauge my skull out trying