A Single Prick,
Escalates to assault the self,
More potent than a series of punches.
It squirms and shouts,
Directional in affect,
Collaborating with Passing Time,
Boasting of its successful lunges
Towards the heart.Yet the damage must be contained,
The anguish isolated to bleed,
It wanders aimlessly
Like a deprived, yet young predator
Looking to feed.
The whole circumstance
Demands silence.
No sign, nor evidence.
Conceal the wounds and move on,
Despite the thorn.
Shelter it even, for the sake of Settled Present.
