Slivers of Me


The stiffened scar tissue brushed up against my arm and a shiver of pure lust shot through my stomach.


The first blade slid into my flesh. I was starting with the excess flesh on my hips. I could feel the strange resistance of the layers of skin and tissue; like a skewer through a balloon. I stared forwards in ecstasy into the mirror, watched as the knife pulled downwards. Firm, scarred hands helping me guide it. The knife glided out again and then back in. A soft, jelly chuck fell to the floor. Lips parted and eyes glazed joyously I motioned towards the wire cutting device. Knives were too clumsy, I needed precision for this. This was my body after all, it had to be perfect. The wire slid down and into my hip with no resistance, a thin line of blood appeared.

Down it went, further. I felt cold, and realised the upper section of cut away skin was flopping back, a beautiful cool settled on my raw flesh. I shaped myself, like carving away at a lump of wood until the most fragile beautiful form remains. I shaved off layers of meat and fat until my bones were encased only in the sheerest tissue.

My hands started shaking then, my legs too I guess. The pain block was definitely still in place but who has strength to cut when they’ve just slivered their skin off piece by piece, and hacked at their muscles until they came free? When they’ve cut off chunks of their own fat like blubber and watched it wobble on the floor? I had no strength, and then those hands took over.