the large red mark on my left calf burns. friction. tomorrow morning there'll be perhaps dozens of tiny little scabs, formed around pinpoints i can't even see. mmm..
a little further up is a red dot which bled for longer than you'd think before exhausting itself, where i tried a little too hard.

i love how we have this fascination with cuts, bruises, gashes, scabs, burns, wounds. gingerly picking our way around them, examining carefully the extent of the damage just inflicted. even more fun when you've no-one else to blame for them but yourself..that only serves to distract you with anger from where your real focus should lie: another mark.
what doesn't kill you, only makes you stronger.

and i'll always pick away at my scabs..not because they annoy me, particularly, but just because they're there. if you pick at one too early, you can see a pinprick of blood oozing out from underneath it.
i love the taste of blood. not too much, but just a dash..just enough to leave that taste in your mouth.

when i was three i managed to stick a piece of glass into my left knee. they had to stitch it..six, maybe seven. big, gash-like, scar of smooth skin. it's been a constant companion.
speaking of companions, there's a tiny shard of glass in my left hand..just below the base of the pinky. when i ran through a french window. small bump reminds me it's there. always will be.

bruises are always interesting creatures, if only for the constant entertainment they can provide if viewed at regular intervals. it's a constant change in colour, and ,if you move your skin this way and that, shape. they're never the same next morning.

sometimes pain only reminds you that you're alive. which is better than nothing.
what's the line?

when everything feels like the movies
and you'd bleed just to know you're alive...