listen to your mother

it's an old wound,
hardened, scabbed over.
it's been there for awhile.
I have a tendency to pick at
it,
like a child
not under the watchful eyes
of his mother.
there is no one there
to tell me to stop,
what are you doing, you're
going to make it bleed
again.
so time and time again,
I rub, and itch,
scratch at it until it
bleeds and starts all
over once more. but
I finally stop, and suddenly
I wake up once morning,
and it's gone.
listen to
your mother.