Time heals all wounds or so they say. Mine seem to just fester and then erupt in a pus filled lava flow. When they scab over I pick them till they bleed again. There are times when I wish my scars were visible. Times like today when I wish my outside looked as beat up and scarred as my insides do. Yet wishes are just figments of the imagination. Kinda like fairies, except no amount of clapping makes wishes come true. I know I've been clapping for many years now. Maybe it's not wishes that aren't real. Maybe it's time itself and that is why I seem to be stuck in an endless spinning circle that goes no where and has no end. Turning endless in one spot. Revolving on itself. Spinning. I breathe and close my eyes. Exhale.