Red Sting Free

Memory deepest dark

Summertime hot, dry

Alone outside I thought I would die

Cruel intentions indoors

Forced to burn in the blazing desert sun

Lips swollen drying cracking

Happiness giddiness mixed with pain

Brightness of red spilling

Healing full

Let’s see it again

Razor finesse the sting and blood

Focus full on tiny pain

Forget the sun

Free the emotional pain

With the tiny red stain

What this poem is about:  I had a vivid memory today of purposely cutting my lip with a razor.  In the summertime it would be so hot.  My mother made me play outside.  There wasn’t technology to babysit us like parents have today.  My lips would burn (I realize now), from the blazing desert sun, drying, and cracking.  Randomly, I would smile, and there would be the tiniest tear, it would bleed and sting. I enjoyed the pain and the bright red blood.  Honestly, I have no idea why.  Who knows what was happening that day, most of my childhood I cannot recall.  After my lips would heal and no longer chap, crack, and bleed, I would get a razor and finesse the healed crack to open, to sting, to bleed again and again.  I don’t recall my age.

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