Titles are Overrated

Part 96

Callouses cover

your hands

from holding on

to things

you should let go of.

Red and raw,

like the scratches

on your skin

that you

pick

and pick.

You don't want to be

inside of it.

Something inside you

kicks and screams

to be let out.

The feeling is scraped

onto the walls

of your throat.

It holds you there,

digging its nails

into the flesh. 

It tears 

and rips -

you can't breathe.

Let it go.

Let

yourself

fall. 

regret will catch you, it will.