September #12

I run to corners,
lick my wounds,
fill them with salt.

I bandage my wounds,
wait for scabs,
rip them off.

I let blood dry,
watch and wait,
and pull the skin open again,

This is how I heal,
slowly, painfully.
I cannot resist the horrible delight,
cannot stay away from my wounds,
know that I hurt myself and still
never stop.