I burrowed a hole through my nose with my finger. That is not poetic strife, I literally mean a hole in my septum. I don't want to get verbose about this, but I really feel like this little sliver of me that can never regrow was holding me back. I'm sort of glad I destroyed it, but keeping this clarity is a bloody daily task.

My nose is incomplete now, outwardly matching my inner deformities. In public I'm constantly wondering if people can see what I did. And if they can, what do they think of me? And if they are thinking about me, how can I possibly protect myself with this hole in my nose?

I wish I knew what day the hole became a part of me, or rather replaced a part of me. Shredding myself apart deserves historical observance.  Sadly, it happened long before I noticed. I got so used to the habit of blood on my hands without consequence. The rhythmic pleasure of gnawing.

Such is love.

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