remote

I pick at my scabs

scratching away at the deceit

that lurks in wounds

under pale flesh

too weak to draw knives

but content with this pathetic 

pinprick of pain saying

yes I too can still feel

where I mull over mistakes

or past failures

the most shameful

remain etched for years

like a brand

walking by the sea

today, tired to my bones

I contemplated embracing

the waves to see if the salt

would render me pure again

unblemished 

but I was already cold enough