But why do you still?
Why do you keep at it?
Stabbing the wound; festering the wound,
Keeping it from drying?
“Because…I don’t know,
Because I don’t understand how I work;
Because my logic says one thing,
And my hands do another.”
It makes no sense; realize that!
Why do you pick at the scab?
Why won’t you keep the bandage on?
Why won’t you let it heal?
“Because if it heals;
If it heals…I will forget about it;
And I don’t want to let it go;
I never want to let it go.”
Your mind works in strange ways!
You want to keep something that causes you discomfort?
Something that sparks so much pain
So much pain
That you wish you are dead?
“The flesh, as it peels off…it hurts.
It always will…I hate the feeling.
I wish I had no wound to begin with;
But if I didn’t, I wouldn’t also have the memories,
That came along with it,
Or rather, preceded it, before the accident,
The accident that changed everything.”
You pick at your wounds.
Understand that! You pick at your wounds!
It isn’t healthy.
“I know I do.
I don’t want to.
But I do. It feels bad;
No, it feels terrible, painful, excruciating;
But it makes me feel good, too.
It makes me remember,
It makes me remember when I was loved.”