It starts with a scratch,

A nick i’ the flesh

Which peels away to expose the

Pink, soft layers beneath.

Well, we can’t have that sticking out all ugly, can we? No!

So, gently peel away, and no more protrudes,

No white flags of dead skin waving away

From the surface. But wait,

There’s another end, and another,

Until you tear and peel and scrape

And face the midpoint where you

Are horrible, and either MUST STOP,

Or cannot, for half of your

Soft, ivory, creamy skin is there

And half of you is raw, burning

Pink flesh.

And an edge still hangs loose.