digger

I’d wake up to the feeling
of being clawed from behind.

It was you, curled up as a spoon-
running your nails across
the expanse of my naked back.
Searching for inconsistencies.

All night you dug, picked, and
plucked at every in-grown hair.

In the morning when I’d see
in the mirror or feel with my fingers
everything beginning to scab-over,
I could never help but wonder.

It was hard to tell if you were
helping me or hurting me.