i cant stop scratching,

and there are bloody dots all over my arm,

and i can’t stop scratching.

and oh how it burns,

but in a pleasant way?

almost like taking a shot of gin.

not that i’ve ever tasted gin,

i don’t even drink.

regardless,

i hope it scars.

no i don’t.

well,

maybe.

that’s my life.

maybe.

and it burns when i bend my arm,

when the skin has to move,

because that how life is,

no?

moving hurts.

everything hurts.

anyways,

i think i’ll be fine.

i hope it sticks around a bit,

just as a reminder of how terrible i am,

or as a reminder that i’m not well.

i’ll take either or,

i’m not picky.

did you know that my name means to sing?

yeah.

oh.

i’ve stopped scratching.

i wonder if i’ll continue if i stop writing.

i hope i never stop writing.

i hope i stop writing.

i hope, i hope, i hope-