Picking at the scab

Pick...
Pick...
Pick...
Questioning.  Pushing.  Demanding.
Pick...
Your polite answers
           are not enough.
Pick...
They want more of you
Pick...
They pull at your skin.  They want you raw.
They want your soul 
            exposed.
 
Pick...
Finally the scab releases its hold and you bleed for them.
Blood and venom pouring from your veins at their insistence
Seeping across the floor to their feet, filling their ears
The horror of your words showing in their eyes.

They wince and with a disgusted sigh, walk away.
They only wanted to break you.
They didn't want your mess.

m
2/11/2015