I love to pull at my blisters, poke them with sterilized needles, release the captured milky liquid, pour hydrogen peroxide on the wound.
I love to tear my scabs from my skin, put the opened skin into my mouth and drink.
I love to press on my bruises with my fingers, test how much they hurt, discover how the different colorations relate to the different degrees of pain.
I love to run the dental floss down deep between my teeth, cut into my gums, let them burn for hours.
I love to use my hand as a toy when I play with my little white cat, flutter it around like a bird until she pounces on it, marking me as hers.
I love to tug tug tug at my hangnails, bite them off, rub them on my jeans until they remove themselves from me.
I love to use my fingers as weapons, my will as a weapon-- prove that I am visible, geographical, and three-dimensional, human and mortal
I love to wage war against myself, make violence to myself, controlled and without need for IRB approval.
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