Gnawing At My Own Bones

I peel my face off in the dark, finger by finger, spark by spark. My thoughts crawl out like roaches do, and whisper, you’re the rot, the bruise.

I claw at skin until it splits, to prove there’s nothing under it. A hollow chest, a trembling vein, a shrine to self-inflicted shame.

My name tastes bitter, ash and rust I grind it down to grit and dust. Each breath’s a trespass, each blink a theft, I am the wound that’s always left.

No mirror holds me anymore, no voice but mine, a throat gone sore. I chew my heart until it bleeds self-hatred feasts, and I’m its feed.