bloodblister in poetry

had the dream with the stick-pins
from high school shop class again
thirty million strong of them
driven into every inch of my skin
picking them out bloody and thick
with the fingernails I do not have
as I’ve bitten them down to the quick
driven in deep
but all just each
a little pin-prick
had to pull them out red-soaked one
by red-soaked one or else
I’d lose too much blood
pulling them out
all at once and
every time I think I’m done
I find another one
I find another one
oh God, another one