A Study of the Self

Trees are flicking away their week old scabs,

The autumn floor littered with their refuse.

A child of five or six is clawing manically at the rough bark,

Splinters lodging beneath her cuticles.

Those passing by make as if to inquire after her actions,

But every one hesitates and averts their eyes,

Knowing full well why she does what she does,

Remembering the way their own fingers bled.

She merely needs to know what lies beneath.

"There must be something there," she thinks, in hysterics.

"It simply can't be wood through and through.

"If only I go deep enough," she mutters.

Reviews

[Judy Ponceby]

I love the motion words in here, "flicking", "littered". "Splinters lodging" causes my fingers to curl up in anticipated agony. A most excellent analogy, well played out. Sometimes somethings are what they are as much as we wish they weren't. This brings to mind a time in my early teens when I realized that some stories I was told were only stories, not the truth I believed them to be, and how frantic I was to believe in them even though the evidence was laid out before me. Evocative work Mr. Taylor. :)

[Cookie]

This is strangely disturbing. I love it. Very well-written.

[Ben Taylor]

Thanks :D pm me and things you've written that you would like read :)