Further in

Protected like a fragile breath, I keep safe as not to hurt.  Then I was scratched and everyone took care of me.  They bandaged it up and cleaned it well.  It hurt... and I remembered.

I healed and again protected myself, remembering only the pain.  Then I was scratched again, and no one to bandage it, no one to keep me from looking at the blood.  I remember the pain but I was used to it, I could feel it, I was drawn to it.  I wanted to see why it hurt, why it made me cry, so I stuck my finger in.  Excruciating waves quickly bloomed from my heart to my whole body and just as quick I pulled my finger out and the relief was divine. I shuttered to imagine the pain, yet I grit my teeth and stuck my finger further in.

The next day I walked aimlessly with a scar on my tear.  Harden to protect me, keep the hurtful things out.  I could touch it but I felt nothing.  I knew it was for the better.  I knew that it was the way it was meant to be.  I knew I wanted to pick at it.

Protect yourself, protect your heart.  You can only lose so much blood.  All the cuts, all the scabs.  It just starts to feel numb.  The pain feels like forever, laying there with no end just bleeding on the floor, no hope.  I have to let it scab, to heal, to protect but the release, the moment of pleasure when the pain is taken away makes draws my finger closer, wanting to do it again.  Wanting to make me feel.

Gaping wounds and bloody rags, scars that harden and numb.  I keep wanting to stick my finger in, farther, deeper.  Pick, scratch, cut through, stick the finger in just a little more.  It's the only way I've known to get into my heart, to let myself feel, there's just so many scabs to pick away.

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