Bleed

I pick at it.

I can’t seem to help it.

This scab,

I pick at it.

But I don’t want it to

bleed again.

 

I gingerly pick at it,

avoiding the full

scab tear off,

the itchy-ness of

it driving me crazy,

But I don’t want it to bleed.

 

My fingernails

surgically scratching

as this irritation

in slow, deliberate,

swirls, to avoid the pain,

and to keep it from bleeding.

 

It never works,

I get frustrated and go

in for it, patience at an

end, the itching being too much

and I rip the scab off,

blood running down.

 

“Damn it,” I’ll say,

angry at myself for not

leaving it alone.

It would have healed just fine,

if I hadn’t picked at it.

And it’s bleeding again.

 

The blood will dry,

form a new scab,

which I’ll be unable to resist,

picking at,

hoping again,

it won’t bleed.