The needle goes in at an angle

The needle goes in at an angle.

I'm looking for the tail of it,

the part that will let me pull.

Nothing moves.

The skin around it has already closed,

decided to keep the thing,

to make it part of the hand I've been using all week.

I push deeper. Blood beads.

A small red dot that means I found the limit,

the moment when trying becomes just

another way of hurting.

It's still under there.

I can feel it if I press the right spot,

a small hard thing in the soft of my palm,

dark and certain.

Some things don't come out.

Some things you learn to live inside of.