i have a headache, a fever. i sobbed in my girlfriends bed all night, wailed with a ziploc bag of melted ice draped over my left temple. took crushed tylenol dissolved in water like a kid. im in pain. am i? am i sad? am i making myself sad? my entire left arm is scabbed. i scraped all my flesh off the night before my last midterm. didnt even feel it. sometimes i think i do it just to do it. rhythmic back-and-forths. steady burning. shedding myself till im all gone. flakes of me piling on the seat of a foldout chair. blood-drenched blade till all friction is lost. sometimes i nick my skin by accident; the scraping does nothing after that. spreads an inky paste from the crease in my wrist to my elbow. have to wipe it off to keep going. deeper, further, beneath the skin, beneath the hurt, beneath all thought and doubt and pain. flesh and blood. never enough. it doesnt matter. my nerves sting, dully. people dont bother asking anymore. i dont want them to. whats the point of this. nothing. its all a mess. my skin, my brain. why try. i dont deserve to try.