Hearing your name was
picking prematurely
wincing at the ripping
a fragile, bright red
showing under a
brown, broken shell
new skin meant
to be tough but
not quite yet.
My fingers couldn’t help
wandering to the site of us
as I wondered if I was fine
when thinking of you drove
me to scratch, your face a
bittersweet blow to the bruise
until finally, I let you go
the itch disappeared
and I stopped picking.
You faded away
faded into my flesh
memories marking me
a dark island of our past
floating forever
in the sea of my skin
the scar, a remnant
of hurt now healed
ready for the next fall.
Photo by Tim Marshall on Unsplash
