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.