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Status: In Progress  |  Genre: Other  |  House: Booksie Classic

Submitted: August 23, 2016

A A A | A A A

Submitted: August 23, 2016



You cut me.

I know it was an accident, I know.

A small prick that pierced my skin.

Small? No - it really is miniscule.


But it stings so much.

How can something this tiny bring about so much pain?

I don’t know how… I just can’t focus on anything with the presence of this wound.

It’s distracting. Worrying.


I wanted to tell you. I wanted to let you know that… that you hurt me this much.

I can’t do it. I don’t want you to scorn me.

After all, it is so trifling.

How could I bring something like this up?


And so it stays with me.

This pitiful mark.

If I leave it alone, maybe it will just go away.

Will it though?


I should have treated it earlier.

I spent the time worrying about the cut.

I didn’t spend any time trying to patch it up.

It changed colour. I can see it.



I believe it is… that would explain it.

It has become grotesque and ugly.

It is more painful than before.


Whenever I meet you I cover it up.

I don’t want you to see it.

I don’t want you to ask the question:

What happened to you?


No. I cannot let that happen.

It will be ok.

It should become better eventually.

I just need to endure a bit longer…


I have become poisoned.

It was because of the cut that you gave me.

I know this… but I can’t say it.

You would hate it if I told you. I know you would.


I am overcome by pain.

I can’t tell which is worse:

Feeling this infected, poisoned scar;

Or seeing your hurt, confused face.


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