I can feel each scar burning on my skin as they did the night i made them. The intensity on some of them is so great it is almost unbearable. It is as if my blood is made from lava and is pooling in those spots, waiting to be re-released and flow to the ground like a waterfall of blood.
I’m squirming in my seat, uncomfortable with anything and everything. My skin feels like it is a beast of its own mind and it is crawling and wishing to be splayed open. To release this beast from within me.
But the beast can only be released if the opening was done just perfectly. It is never done just perfectly. so the beast grows ever impatiently inside my veins. Getting angrier and more restless with each failed attempt.
I can see the would have been wounds on my skin. clean and bloodless like I just washed it clean and right before the blood starts pouring from it again. The skin splayed open, parted to let the air in, to help me breathe. After a cut I’ve always felt there was more oxygen in my blood stream than any other time in my life. It was an invigorating feeling. But the burning soon takes over and the oxygen seeps back out of the wound as it closes up.
All those would be wounds on my skin are screaming, all at once in their own voice. the constant chatter in my brain is making my brain crawl while my skin crawls its own way as well. I can feel the burning of the lava under each would-be cut and the searing hotness of the cold blade ripping through my skin.
I’m trying not to hyperventilate from all the things going on, all the imaginary movement on my body and in my brain. It is so much to handle. Almost too much to handle.
mynoblesseoblige 