Digging for Treasure

They're digging for my treasure, the shiny and lustrous things I have for years kept under layers and layers of dirt. They jab their shovels at random, poke and prod at my subconscious, to see where I wince most. Sure, my face will give away the gold's location, but at the end, I feel even more beaten. In the end, I am covered in holes.
And what does one make holes out of? They have created problems from nothing.