CLEAN YOUR SKELETON
I can feel an itch deep beneath my skin along the surface of my bones. They're filthy and need to be cleaned.
Content warning: Self-harm
I can feel an itch deep beneath my skin along the surface of my bones. They're filthy and need to be cleaned.
The light in my bathroom is bright and white. There are no shadows where dust and grime can hide from my washcloth. A package of razor blades lie in their spot beside a row of neatly arranged pill bottles inside the medicine cabinet.
I draw the cool metal from my wrist down the length of my forearm, and my skin opens like a zipper. Rivulets of crimson blood seep from the exposed meat, but my magic eraser wipes them from the porcelain sink.
I can see my bones now. The filth is hidden by the spurting blood, but I know it's there. Dirt and mold caked along their length.
I grab my wire brush and start to scrub.