Stress and anxiety has caused me to scratch open an old scar of mine I thought healed over a couple of years ago. It has found refuge below my navel, off to my right, but to the left of whoever lays eyes on me.

Small open wounds litter the surface; little open pink-red tears leak a clear gold-hued plasma fused with the dark ruby red of blood on darkened brown-red skin. Dead, damaged, permanent. It is sensitive to the touch and unsightly to see.