She had a fondness for picking
No, not a fondness - not even desire
An imperative
Pick pick
Turning a lethargic bud into a vendetta
Pick pick
What no one noticed before was now a glaring fissure
Pick pick
And so it wasn’t too surprising when she didn’t notice
The tiny slice he made - so much like a pick - no more than a pinprick
Just an eensy cut, and look,
It heals so fast.
It heals so fast so long as you don’t pick it
And he picked the tiny eensy scab
So almost-healed you could see the new skin pulling at the edges with its fleshy talons
And he picked it right off
But see?
So tiny. So eensy. You barely felt that
Pick pick
Picked again
Almost-healed, then picked again
Pick pick until it becomes something else
Until an angrily shiny pink berm juts up from the flakey blood bits
Pick pick until she sees it always
Until she feels it always
Pick pick and throw it away
Pick pick while he throws her away
A tiny, eensy pick at a time
Even tiny, eensy scabs can build a filthy tower of crust
Pick pick while he tells her he’s not picking
That he won’t pick
Pick pick until she becomes a keloid to be excised
What else can you do with a keloid