you got mad at me for photographing the scabs on your arm
it exists as evidence - you’ve bled, you hate it
as if it made you less of a man  

regretting every time you display affection
tell me how you really feel
tell me how you’ve fallen
as if it made you less of a man

baby, you’re my man
and i documented your old blood
because its the closest i’ve gotten
to seeing your insides
the closest i’ve been
to truly believing
that you have a heart
or that you bleed
for me

a protective mechanism;
unsightly, yet all you need
to keep out deadly passions
some may call is masochism
yet it is the fear that i'll bleed
from digging at the lesions
of a love long lost
and then i met you

as if you were a blanket
shielding me from the hurt
this world can cause
only your warm touch blank it:
all the pain that has been inflicted
oh, how i long to be yours.

you showed me
that you can still pick a scab
off of a scar

Couldn't eat so
I smoked a cigarette,
now all I've got is shallow satisfaction,
bad breath.

But I'll pick my scabs, just to
remind myself,
Pick my scabs
as if I could find myself
finger-deep in my own left thigh.

Missed you today,
I turned the TV on so I wouldn't
feel alone, and
let reality slip
away.

And I pick my scabs to remind myself,
Pick my scabs to encourage better health
And I pick my scabs so I can know they're healing

I always fell in love with
moments, never with the man.
I danced through stars to
love songs I couldn't understand

And I pick
my scabs, just to remind myself
And I pick my scabs,
just to pretend to know
how scars are birthed from blooming skin

Pick my scabs like I wish I
could crack apart my shell,
let it shatter
let it shatter

But you can't see it, so to you it doesn't matter.

Flesh will always lie, but my keloids will remember.

Bitter past will grasp upon you
but surviving is what matters.

So I,
pick my scabs
to remind myself