Scratch
I call your name, scratch
Why did I do that?
Scratch again
My neck, itchy
patterned with crusty, dry patches
so I scratch at it
until the patches become smooth
or numb
or
Until I can’t say your name out loud anymore
without burning
Somewhere between these moments I left-side my obsession
I shoulder the lights out of these constant
thoughts provoking postponed personal development
Or maybe my obsession tackled me, pinned me down
and sucked the light out from my eyes
either way
I was married to a split moment and I noticed:
An addiction
is just an itch that feels like
will never go away
It’s constantly distracting
It’s unimportantly urgent
and it’s so reasonable to scratch, at first…
I scratch
scratch, scratch
scratch until I
carve myself into halves (halves, for Christ’s sake)
until those halves become halves
and those halves are halved
and all that I have
isn’t good enough for you?
Britta B.
