
I pick at the healing scab
It’s brown and scaley and gets stuck under my periwinkle nails
The underneath flesh is pink and puffy with angry peaks and valley’s showing the journey of the white paperclip as it was dragged along my flesh two days ago.
Two days ago, it wasn’t brown, or pink
It was a stream of scarlet, with crimson waves drenching my thigh
The shades of red evoked a feeling of anger in me, about my forthcoming, obvious sign of vulnerability
In two weeks the angry pink and puffy skin will fade to a soft mauve that glistens in the light.
Looking beautiful in a fucked up way and reminding me in a fucked up way that life has a fucked up way of letting you heal.


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