Pushed Away

Pushed Away ~

How does it feel to be pushed away,
And to be given the cold shoulder?
Numb from the pain,
My fingertips are breaking away like ice,
Yet-
Taking a sadistic pleasure in the fact that I am,
Feeling it,
Because how in the world can you be the target of so much hatred mixed with neglect,
And not want to at least press your finger to the cut,
And let the blood run over the skin,
In a kind of abject fascination mixed with pleasure?
Because the cut- it runs deep. And you love to see the blood mingle,
With salty tears, slipping along the edge of your winding nose.
Jutting out like a hawk’s profile,
Or a treacherous mountain.
These words, they flow like a gushing stream down the sides,
And I enjoy the temporary relief from the numb,
And I press my finger into the bleeding wound,
Which I cannot actually see,
But how does it feel to be pushed to the side,
And given the cold shoulder?
Is it more fun not look my way anymore,
Or watch me bleed from the inside?
Is it better to pretend that I don’t matter anymore,
Or is it better that I feel nothing at all in this cold?
Or- let myself press a finger to the wound and pry it open all the way,
Just so that I know that I am,
Human?