A wound that was left untended for years festers out of sight, pus-filled and infected. One day you unwittingly prod at it and find you take some strange pleasure in the discomfort, in really feeling the hurt as you probe how deep it runs.
It opens up, spills out a little — and it’s messy.
But there’s some relief in this.
Dress it again now tenderly. It remains, waiting to be cleansed one day.
Meantime alcohol is good for cleansing wounds, right?