The decision is never really a choice
The low numbness and lack of feeling is fine
It can be contained and dealt with (Hidden)
Feeling is what triggers it
The sudden need to gasp, the jump in your heart
That believes it is hunted, haunted by the future past present
The hand in your gut, poking and prodding your intestines
Subtly and gently pulling your stomach

Feeling is what is unbearable
I have nothing to hit
No wounds to heal
Nothing to show for my inner turmoil
Except for the marks that I make
On the crook of my arm
That I hide only until they close
Because they never heal