Slowly scuffle through the silver, choose your tool of choice,
run a finger over every bit, make sure it's the one for this.
Pick it well and grasp it hard, the job is almost through
touch it gently to the skin and through old life
move it softly, yet harder still, and scrap its teeth into the flesh,
free the new from within the old.
Carelessness has taken over now,
over the order, the precision.
Jagged fingers picking frantically,
palling, pulling, tugging, tugging,
get it free, get it out, stop,
a little snip, a little cut, the pain slight but true.
Scrap it again, deeply this time.
Deeper than ever before, so deep now,
I'm sure I ought to blood, but no, I never do...
not with all the pulling and the cutting and the tools.
Because I feel the flesh and it's intruder, I know the old from new.
And so it is slowly cut away, the sting so deep, so raw,
the skin is red, and full of blood, yielding to the barriers
But it is done, the job fulfilled the intruder has been removed,
all is well, and the flesh is free.