The Bites
The thing loves to stand behind me. It shows me how much I would go for, and that's not much. It shows me my family, and how I only have one half. It shows me the things I could never own or feel like, pretty. I cry and it hands me tissues because it is the truth I'm exposed to. The thing bites the back of my knees and in between my shoulder blades, unable to scratch. It itches. And burns. I start to cry and try to stretch my arm behind my head, but fail. It shows me the things I can't think through no matter how hard I hold on to it. It will NEVER be finished. I itch behind my knees and it burns and fiery puss pops and leaks a thick red blob of blood. It hands me a tissue to wipe it up with. And shows me that I'm out of band aids.