Under my Nails
In the morning I'm in my own bed again.
It was warm and full of heavy heat
of nightmares and thoughts and disturbed sleep.
And I wake up and am languid for about an hour
till I bring my hand to my face again,
nails in my mouth and stench caught to my senses.
It can't be me and it isn't.
I smell the rest of my hands and it's no where but the nails.
I dig my teeth in under and scrape the loose flesh
and the deposits from underneath.
I spit them out and want to brush my teeth-
I know the damage has been done,
but I go to the mirror anyways.
It can't be me but it was.
-Matthew Koutzun
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