The sound of your name on my lips
Was like a scab on the surface of my skin,
An itch over a wound
Just over my heart.
I remember it wasn't your intention
To turn your actions into a knife,
It just happened,
Just like a wind turns into a hurricane,
The unpredictable kind.

I stared at the scab,
Unknowingly reaching for it,
Scratching it,
And drawing blood,
Unintentionally,
And then I wondered
If opening the wound was worth
Letting you trail down my skin,
Again,
Just like the red mass of plasma and cells.

I did it one too many times in the past,
Even when I was explicitly advised
To leave it alone.
I kept scratching,
Until there was no blood
But just a scar tissue,
New and Pink,
Joining the artwork on my skin,
An art of Scabs and Scars.

~~~

A/N:

One more Free Verse.

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