My Insomniac Heart

You swathed it in bandages that try to heal
Holes that I’ve created for myself
Just to see what would happen if I pushed too hard
Even though it’s common knowledge
That’ll everyone bleeds, and it won’t stop

Standard procedure
At first, your raw, warm bandages
gave me relief that came with the thin remnants of antiseptic fumes
The forming of cells, leukocytes

Soon, I began to pick at my scabs
And realise how constricting these bandages feel
But you said, leave it
It’s good to keep pressure on open wounds