not every wound heals
some fester and drip
leaking poison into your blood stream
infiltrating your very being
even sometimes invading the chambers of your wounded heart
hiding in the scars of your memory
or in the pockets of darkness within your soul

some wounds grow worse with time
eating away at flesh
sucking away life
turning you to dust and ash before your eyes
until you lose all sensation
until what was once part of you
is dead, decayed
falling off like the broken stump
of a desiccated umbilical cord
discarded without realization
into the trash bin with yesterday’s leftovers

some wounds demand intervention
require rescue
without which healing is impossible
and if you leave it be
it will only get worse

what was once a tiny scratch
grows to a raw ulcer
consuming flesh, sinews
sometimes eroding as deep as bone

these wounds, sometimes you have to
break the scab open
cut away the decay
until blood flows freely
flay open the wound
and leave it exposed to the world
raw and angry
letting the putrescence evanesce
like some foul miasmatic nightmare
evaporating at the break of dawn

but most wounds, as they say
heal with time
like your mother always told you
never pick at your scabs
let the cut well up with bright, red blood
let the seeping blood crust over
because every time you tear at the wound
will leave a scar
every time you open it up again
creates a new wound
undoes all the healing
and remember,
in the end,
all bleeding stops
eventually