Scabs

We pick the scab,
And let it bleed.
And bleed again
it will.

For the bleed dries,
And covers the wound,
Only to be picked at,
Again and again.

Much like tears,
Much like pain.

When on the brink
of being forgotten,
We pick the scab,
To bleed again.

And so it bleeds,
That merry pain.
That rawness of wounds,
We have come to love.

For we wallow,
We wallow willingly in hurts.

It is agony;
Unbearable pain.
But it justifies
and keeps us sane.

So pick the scab,
And let it bleed.
For bleed again,
It will.