"Shedding"

My arms are covered in invisible tattoos,

scars that lie beneath the surface,

the needle used,

a bobby pin.

Scratching my skin raw,

a blotchy, red stain marks the spot.

Pieces of skin

split and I peel them off in the hopes that,

if I peel enough, I will become a new Creature.

But what I’m doing is not shedding,

though that’s what I call it.

And after all is peeled,

I am not a new Creature, nor am I a better

version of myself.

No, I am still me, only I’m bleeding,

and out of skin to peel,

so, I lick my wounds and

take stock of my body,

in search of my next victim.