I write to be a victim

It catches up to me every time I get a ache and I’m scared it’s going to put me in there again. I wonder if this was physical and not in my head I would be okay. My heart aches and twists yet  the pity I garner is no bandage. My pulse echos in my head and bounces off the walls in my skull. I write to be a victim, I’m sick of the hurt and I know they will never actually listen. I just continue the cycle, every creative writer worth our consideration…is a victim: of man given over to an obsession. My pen pricks my skin and the ink stains my sheets, I’m constantly judged for the way I write so I stop yet I have no other outlet. It was still sharp through the morphine. living through the holes in my arms.