By Daisy Anand
As I scratched the wound on my leg,
blood started to come into view.
It was 4 or something in the morning, and no one checked.
Dripping down like a huge drop of tear, that was only seen by the people who weren’t new,
I tried to stop it with my bare hand,
only to feel the prickly texture of my skin,
the colour of it reminding me of sand.
Trickling blood forming the shape of a lake that seemed to be infused with sin.
Tips of my finger were covered in bright red.
The vibrancy of it starting to fade away.
As it was 4:40 in the morning, and I still didn’t consider going to bed, but instead
I looked at the blood which had now completely dried.
Showcasing the traces on my fingertips perfectly.
Remembering how moments before I had cried,
how I wasn’t dealing with myself honestly.
The dried fluid made me realise, that the pre-existing scars are triggered by the people that we once thought were ours.