Challenge
Scabs: Do you leave them be, or pick at them?
let ’em be
they say to me,
"let 'em be,"
don't let the black crust
give way to a red flood.
but i can't help it.
i love the taste
of rusty scabs and
copper blood
bloodstained teeth
and messy arms
caked with wounds
and wet blood
because i won't let
myself heal.
i scrape at the
smallest of spots
just to see the red.
i bite, i scratch,
i pick with a pen.
i'll do anything
to loose the crimson tide.
i'll do anything
to release the blood inside.
because scabs are letters
made to be opened,
like a knife through
a letter written in skin.
they tell me to
"let 'em be."
but i can't.
i have to free the creature
living in me.
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