I watched you tear away at the flesh around your thumbnails
Small droplets of blood forming at the surface of the alabaster skin
And clinging there - hanging - until you suck them off between your pinkish-brown lips
Like dead rose-petals when they trickle to the surface of the end-table,
Having been in the translucent green vase for two weeks.
I stare down at the Band-aids covering the skin adjacent to my own thumb
I don't know if I should compare and smile with you or if I should hide this parallel flaw.
I have striven so hard to be perfect.
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