i am a hive

I am a hive

a blistering sore

carved out of mottled flesh, cracking surfaces and all. 

etched upon this canvas, draw points, connect the dots. 

one mark caused by stress, the other a point of contact. 

connect. 

again and again.

connect

until the lines begin to form. 

pick out the reasons, 

the favorites, 

the least liked. 

make up an excuse for our behavior. 

in the end, these little pieces of information are nothing more

than little pieces of information we thought to gather, 

little pieces of information we thought important, 

little pieces of information that meant something. 

well everything always means something at some point to someone who may or may not live somewhere in a place. 

how vague can we make this? 

how biting can it all be? 

contain it. 

or not. 

it's just a rash. 

i'm just a hive.

a blistering sore. 

nothing less, nothing more.