A Little More

It was just then I was realizing that vampire wounds were a lot more troublesome than they really oughta be. Stripping away the old, already worn bandages from my benumbed hand revealed bright beads of red still bleeding afresh from every reopened gash. 

But the moment I gave myself some respite from barrier-breaking, the bleeding and stinging gradually ceased once more, and that's when I realized the actual reality of the matter - that I was more a trouble to myself than I really oughta be. I'm blaming my hand, when I really should be blaming myself here. 

For some stupid reason, I just have a knack for refusing to let any wounds or ailments plaguing mend or heal undisturbed… my noble cause always have the tendency to get in the way of that. Be it for a rain of blood, a phoenix slumbering in comforting lies, or a man at the brink of losing himself in his entirety… that intrinsic sense of self-preservation just sorta gets tossed out the window for me.