It starts with discomfort
Laced with any amount of confidence
Until something strikes you with an external force
And then you are shaking;
Making of the attack one that is personal
And you're left with a calloused wound, burning
When you know to bind your skin
Through deliberately scorching your flesh.
The pain is stillborn
And you are left with the loss of healing
But the tears you shed wash away its scars
And you're blessed instead with the acknowledgment
Of your own disgust
That you just couldn't stand bleeding enough.