no bliss in band-aids

it’s a guessing game of how many

band-aids we’ve plastered and pulled

off this giant gaping gash that was once

a small puncture

a scratch in the surface

a tiny cut

that we expected to disappear

ripping off the band-aid

wasn’t the best idea, perhaps

when the wound started to bleed again

after taking a breath of fresh air;

maybe it didn’t heal for long enough

or my skin was just sensitively thin

or something’s wrong with my blood—

we tried peeling it off gently,

but it bled anyway we tried

“it’ll work” were the words i heard

the second time you put a band-aid on

“eventually” was added on the third time

“hopefully” after the fourth one

“trust me” after countless tries

with a matching “shh” when i mentioned

of having it checked by a doctor

but the blood never stopped flowing

the skin went pale and purple

and the wound outgrew the band-aids

soon enough the odor of putrescent flesh

began to fill every corner of the room

the feeling of flies landing on my skin

and maggots crawling inside

along with your empty reassurances

was the point that i finally told myself

i’ve had enough

so i rip off the band-aid one last time

and grabbed a pair of tweezers

to stab through the open wound

and look for you—

you who burrowed deep inside

and started eating me alive

you squirmed through the decaying matter

relishing on the life that was left in me

i pull you out to end it once and for all

even when i felt like you were a part of me

and i see you in your true form

a monstrosity i never imagined

to live within my body

it’s a guessing game of how many

days or weeks or months it takes

for the stitched-up wound to fully heal

it won’t take years, hopefully

soon enough, eventually

it’ll work, surely

without you anymore in me