People would say it was a stupid thing to do, if people knew. I don't tell them, though. It's none of their business. It's only for me.
I poke the sleeping beast, to awaken it, to be reminded of the danger that I face.
It's so easy to forget. To be distracted by fleeting glimpses and wispy remnants of fading dreams. By facades and lies.
I poke the sleeping beast. I bare my chest to its claws.
It slashes. Rips. Tears.
And I remember.