A bleeding flesh wound –
I am the fingernail digging in sharply,
Deepening the cave of plasma and color.
I am the itching when healing attempts
To envelop the skin in beige-clustered hues.
I am the crusty, brown layer on top,
Unsightly for certain and unwanted at best.

Did no one teach you? No matter your stance,
Ignoring a scab to its slow, subtle parting
Will still leave a scar behind. –
I gracefully linger, for these scars don’t fade.