Open Wound

There's this open wound
Underneath my sleeve.
It's bleeding heavily;
Yet not a single drop can be seen.
It's like I took a part of myself
And buried it six feet deep.
This heart of mine,
It strays in the palm of my hand;
Yet for some reason,
No one dares to stand near it.
Such a rapid pulse;
Yet it feels foreign to me.
Spoken in a language,
I have no desire to understand.
There's this silhouette you see.
One quite impossible to reach.
It's begging.
Crawling.
Like it needs to be connected to
Something other than what it used to be.
This thread I have sown
Upon my lips,
Holds some secrets one shall
Never dare themselves to speak.
But it's too late now,
I've let them out.
It was as expected.
They said they'll stay,
But where'd they go?
There's this open wound
Underneath my sleeve,
For all to see;
Yet no one's around to watch it bleed.