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Description
The act of hurting
Is dangerous.
It kicks, and screams
Like the unborn and spiteful child
Of a dreaded union
Yet, or never, to be,
And coerces me
To be this.

And yet,
Each,
Like those before,
I cut away,
To save my self the trouble
Or the burden of emotion.

I disassociate, cauterize
And cast that which would trouble me
Into a hellish box for later reference
And pray,
To never recall
The scar or cause
Until such time
As such would be.

Hurt,
Like most things,
Leaves me rather
Unimpressed.