The Duct Tape Theory

— On not letting go

You stick on duct tape on your arm for the very first time

And on your skin, it’s tight and snug.

You’re one with the adhesive.

It’s sticking well and the silver shine is undeniably smooth.

You’re too comfortable to peel it off, but it’s getting itchy,

So you pick at the corners, nervous about your skin cells and hairs

Thinking they may never grow back.

Then, you close your eyes tight

And think “This too shall end.

It’s only one fast snag

And a quick zip to seeing my own skin again.”

So you look at the brighter side of the

Heavy-duty tool made play thing

And see pieces of you still stuck,

A bit of skin particles and some hair follicles.

It took quite a bit of you with it.

But you made up your mind:

That you’d rather wash and cleanse that arm

Where that patch attached tightly.

Where the irritated red was visibly unhealthy.

But then, you forget the painful part–

The holy-shit-why-the-hell-did-I-do-that-to-myself part

And think “Hey, it won’t hurt as much this time”

And you stick on the duct tape once more.

And twice more. And three times more.

It’s a familiar sort of sensation, but–

It lost some grip and its strength is not what it used to be,

The first time you thought “Hey, I think I’ll attach this

No-laughing-matter thing on my skin

And see how I feel in the end.”

And see how I feel in the end.”