• Exposure therapy
    nausea inside of me
    the illness moves up my disgusting self
    defying gravity,
    kind of like an excorcism.
    The demons laugh in my reflection.

    Desensitization.
    Habituation.
    It's all the same.
    Repitition.
    I pick at the wounds.
    They get on to me, "it will grow on you."
    Like a bullet forever becoming a part of your body.

    "Sometimes I find it against nature," I tell them,
    "letting wounds heal..."