Sometimes I just want to dig my nails into my flesh

feel the keratin press sharply against epithelial, triggering pain receptors that

branch off like trees with pointed

branches and

tangled

roots.

Sometimes I want to pull at my hair—not

to see the strands lying limp in my fist

but to feel the pain of thousands of pinpricks on my skull.

I want to feel the residual twinging long after I let go

fire on my skin that flares up

with bursts of

oxygen.

Sometimes I want to cry so loudly that the walls shake

and the ground trembles

and my skin vibrates

I want to feel the sound pulse against me like sea waves,

thrusting me into the tide,

dragging me along the rocky bottom of the shore

so that the anemones

and debris

and jagged pieces of worlds past

can pierce through

my skin.

Mostly,

I want to feel something other than the pain that I can’t reach,

the pain that lives in my heart

and mind

and soul.

The pain that only

you

seem to trigger.

***

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