moment of weakness, of carelessness
a scintillating sparkling spark and then--
"****!"

it all gushes out,
you poke and touch and squeeze
more. more more. addicted.
red brushstrokes in its wake, like Monet
wave the finger around to strangers!!

someone tells you to wash it off
the blood dotting the silver band, the written pages of scribbled font
not the right time, not the right person.
so they say, so they scrub with soap
--i'm taking it all back.

it stings now, doesn't it?
the shame, humiliation mixed in.
can't even twitch without the hissing pain
war veteran or loveless child
lethe, oh, lethe.

brush away the wilted petals from time to time
fine, it only hurts when you remember how
but the scar lingers--will linger.
as a teenager longs for soft eyes,
i do for you.