8-8-11

My scars were stitched shut,

wrapped up in my sleeve and

enveloped from the unknown.

Livid, bleak memories impend beyond

my eyes, circling around me,

taunting me and swearing and

threatening me.

Warm, thick, liquid trickles

down my skin, 

The smell of salt and

rust emerge into the air and then

I can feel it.

Not a sudden, quick feeling but a

sudden, piecing feeling 

one by one, I can feel my 

stitches coming undone

Sluggish, in awe,

Agonsizing,

My skin stretching.

My flesh burning.

My blood oozing.

I can taste it on

the tip of my tongue.