The scab,
deep red,
drying at the edges,
beckons fidgeting.
Brushing across,
crustiness,
and shriveling borders,
between wound and health.
Beckoning temptation,
jumbling hurts and joys,
and uncertainty
yearn to find a path.
Gently,
Pulling back,
crimson glistens beneath
asking, “Is it new? Is it safe?”
Crusted blood
releases painlessly
until it doesn’t.
Stubbornness emerges.
Undaunted fidgeting,
temptation,
and wondering,
cruelly tug on the scab.
Blood seeps,
oozes,
drips,
and flows.
My tears burst forth.
This is not the way.