been picking at my lip
again. old childhood
habit–squeezing
corner of my
mouth for minutes at a time
so it forms into a blister.
digging my nail into the blister
just for the feel of it.
sometimes poke it with a safety pin
as i stare into the mirror.
watch it get fat and black.

my mother called it“pleasure pain.”
masochism is a desire for salve,
relief from the pain  and often
finding yourself blindfolded  in a
blade-lined hallway.
  you gotta feel your way out.
the little girls say.
he’s also  saying a lot so
I just nod a lot.
besides the impulse to
jump off a bridge every
day, I am not totally sure
why I am here.

“do you have any plans to hurt yourself?”
he asks in earnest but in a way that
he never looks directly at me.

im hot and walked for miles so im
a bit stuck to the vinyl,
sweaty and squirming but otherwise
pretty, presentable and
what’s done is done.
but I don’t say anything.
just shake my head
and bite my lip.
lift my thigh slowly to
feel the stretch of skin
and pray for some other
thing to take me.

or for the little girls to stop
but they’re snickering now.

“Belladonna”