Pour Alcohol On This Wound

Posted: May 29, 2018 in Uncategorized

Why does it hurt?
Is it bleeding again?
How many times am I supposed to stitch you up and seal you for good?
How many times am I supposed to clean up the pus?
And stop the bleeding..
And press hard on it like a warm hug that I can’t have now.
In this dark room..
In this loneliness..

I ran out of bandaids.
A trip to the pharmacy.
Get a pain killer.. a strong pain killer, antibiotics and bandaids.

Why won’t you heal goddammit?
Why do you have to come back to life everytime I believe you’re dead and your funeral is over?
The funeral is over.
Why dig up this grave of pains all over again?
Why are you still alive and gaping?

This muscle memory needs amnesia.
This pain needs a pill.
Pop a pill.. maybe two..
For I want to sleep.
But my bed sheets are soaked with blood mixed with tears.
Salt and iron..

This is the reason I find myself whispering “I want to die” under my breath several times a day.
This is the reason my ribs feel too heavy to take in a breath.
This is the reason why I’m now crying.

But its okay.
Nothing here is unfamiliar.. it’s okay.

Wounds heal they say.
Wounds heal but pouring alcohol on them burns and I can’t take it anymore.
The gape is deep.
The scar will be ugly.
The stitches are seeping through this skin quietly.
I bet they are sick of it as much as I am.
But its okay.
I’m breathing..
I’m still breathing..

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