Self-Examination through Crescents by Armaan Ranyal

I fashion these Crescents
like blades, sharpen their ivory
​like knives.
Crevices form in my furrowed skin, pools of blood
well up, leak out like sewage.

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I sketch permanent scars and mutilate this esh, rinsing carmine streams under sink faucets. I smother my pain by venting into towels; pure, white,
clean unlike me, purity besmirched by this skin.
Mother scolds me, tells me facial etches last forever. Brother shows his scars, braille outlining his temples, warning me that I chose the wrong role model.
Promise, my lie escapes through gaps between my teeth, no longer will I inscribe Crescents into this delicate esh, not until my next self-examination. 
Armaan Ranyal envisions himself writing poetry at dusk, stooped against the trunk of a grand Quercus. He loves Bollywood period drama soundtracks, taking siestas, and trying to identify trees. When he isn’t stressing about college, he’s probably searching deep down rabbit holes for new ways to challenge his horizons. His work has previously been published in Words & Whispers and is forthcoming in Swim Press.