Chelsea Fanning
BLOOD LETTING
I gnaw the inside of my mouth
worrying the tender flesh until
it bleeds, the metallic tang painting
taste buds red. The cuts take weeks
to heal, awake and throbbing to citrus
and salt. The whole lip enflamed and raw.
In the bathroom mirror, I pull
down the flap of skin, inspect the damage.
Pale rose riddled with dark craters.
Sometimes, the tears are visible
even from the outside.
I tell myself I won’t do it again.
This time is the last time.
This time I’ll keep my teeth sheathed,
my flesh pure and undisturbed.
But I can’t resist the taste
or how easy it is
to devour myself.