I tripped over my own feet again / I do not want help / I do not want to be the child on the playground with scraped up knees / with pebbles under flesh / hot white boiling tears on waterlines / crowds gathering, gasping, grasping for bone thin arms
And I'm running / I do not want tender, callous tipped fingers on my skin, mending my wounds / they're mine / mine mine mine mine
Let me hurt / I did this to myself did I not? / give me the satisfaction of knowing that I too am destructible
I will not learn from it / even when the wound becomes infected / and the infection spreads through my capillaries to my arteries to my heart / sooner or later it will scab over / and if it does not then I'm just a self induced casualty
And now there are those bits of gravel under my skin / aching when I step / so I won't step / I'm going nowhere
Scarring flesh / always there / and my undesirable unknown desires / yet I'll still say something as incomprehensible as
"I don't want help, don't try."
