We hurt myself, 'cause we can't feel.
Thoughts, music, alcohol, memories as well.
We are far beyond the point of care.
From where I can see – we never were.

A needle tied to a wooden strip, bare skin.
As the needle impacts, a sharp pain.
I know first hand it almost leaves no marks.
Healed within a week, slight bruises,
no scars and for better or worse no blood letting.

We feel numb, but some pain will make us remember.
The tool lies just aside as the forgetting begins.

Tomorrow I won't remember my reasons, I'll be someone else, you're the same. When alcohol and apathy make love, some day their child's last descendent will be a bullet.

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