under the needle

and we've tip toed around this for days because you don't want to think about it. you don't want to talk about it. you don't want to see it in your head. me. you don't want to know: did it bleed? does it hurt? will there be a scar? will you remember me? what about next time? and maybe, just maybe, i'd like to. i'd like to talk about it. i'd like to talk about how you'll never hold my hand without looking down to see it. how i'll never be the same as i was before it. like i'll never be the same as i was before any of it. but who are you to tell me that i'm not better? yes it was wrong, no i didn't want to, but just because i'm different now doesn't mean i'm worse than i was to start with. will you understand that even though i've done this thing, i can still be beautiful? my arms are tainted. do you think i'll ever look at myself the same? it's not your wrist that was bleeding. but you're pretending to make it go away. settle, rest now, it'll all be okay in the morning. the wind was blowing and the twilight fell purple and shades of blue, darkening around my world. it was beautiful. i'm going home tomorrow.