I looked down at my leg today and I noticed that there's a cut on it. It isn't a small cut, a cut that you'd get from rubbing against a branch. It's a deep cut. It's a cut I should have reacted to when I got it. I should have felt the pain. I should have acknowledged it. I should have said, "Ow." I should have said, "Oh dear God. Oh fuck that hurts." I didn't do anything. I didn't even realize that I was injured until today.
Pain does that. Pain is a son of a bitch because it picks and chooses when it will allow you to notice it. Ever sprain your ankle, a really bad sprain but you are still ok to play on it? A day later it's purple, it's swollen and you can't put pressure on it. You can't understand how you were ok the day before but today, today you are so bruised that you can't even stand up. You can only sit there and wait patiently and hope that the pain goes away so someday you'll be ok to walk again.
I look down at this cut and it's irritated. A mixture of dark and light red covers my skin as it fills in the gap. The hole that was left there by some unknown object, thing, person. At this point it's too late to cover it with a band-aid. At this point why hide it? Why hide the pain because I'd only be fooling myself. It's best that the cool air blows over it, to keep the blood dry. To make a protective wall of molecules and white blood cells.
I don't know if it will ever heal, leaving a scar to remind me of this event. I don't know if that scab will ever fall off. All I know is that I'll stare at it to remind me that I'm not as invincible as I thought I was, hoping the next time I bleed, the next time I get cut, I won't ignore it.
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3 comments:
If you're wondering where that cut came from, it was me. I always stab people that call me a bastard. So enjoy gangrene,you dirty mick.
Figures you would show up and not tell me. It would figure you wouldn't show up period. I am drunk. Thank you beer and a three hour conversation with M.T.
let it bleed, let it bleed
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