Blood-shot

Pick that almost healed scab.

Ask not what caused it.

You know you want it to bleed once more.

A pinprick of scarlet swelling into a pool.

And then running  red furrows down your skin.

Warm and sticky and icky.

Watch the patterns it makes.

Oozing.

Let it spill and drip and slip.

Count the minutes until it stops.

By itself.

You'll do it again.

Because you can't cry.