Sellophane

Maybe I wasn't supposed to see it.
But it was there; the wound.
Right there, where you couldn't miss it. Strategically placed and covered with grime and pus. I could not miss it. Maybe it should hurt, maybe it does. Nestled in the milky white of a truth you have always carefully avoided.
It should hurt.
But it doesn't really hurt, more like a numb realization that comes with pained acceptance.
But the question is, if you know about it then why do you stay?
It can't be amusement. No, not that.
Why do you entertain me as I delude myself. Weave and whirl illusory patterns around me while I keep sliding downwards on a sloping surface.
What do you see?
Or
What do you wish you did see?
But of course, I must not know.