It wasn’t me

it wasn’t me, I’ve been stitched up

but it was me, and I have been stitched
it didn’t feel like me when it happened
someone else’s hand, arm, leg
I left them to it.

I mean, what are a few more scars amongst so many?
especially on a body that’s not mine.

the pain brought me back to myself
assessing the damage, I see it’s bad
I try to care, and fail spectacularly.
but then reality sets in.
someone will have to know
but who?

a private act, gone too far
and now I must face the consequences
reactions: pity, disgust, fear, and perhaps the worst: empathy.

will they numb before stitching
or do I deserve the extra pain?
like it might make me think twice
the next time.

but it wasn’t me, it never is
I’ve been stitched up.


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