Anxiety

It is easy to lose one’s self

In the habit of scratching at the skin.

It all starts with the perceived relief of

A tiny, insignificant itch.

The reddening skin, weakening pores,

Your body’s warning system

Danger, danger!

All go by unnoticed, ignored -

You keep at your habit

(Scratch, scratch).

The skin rips open;

So fragile, so innocent,

Pure red flowers blossoming,

A bloody spring.

The initial itch has gone but

It has been replaced –

There is no relief

(Scratch, scratch).

Scabs cannot keep up with your

Masterful fingernails,

You tear them away upon formation,

The redness is your art –

There is no stopping now

(Scratch, scratch).