The cold hard plaster woke me fast

The cold, hard plaster woke me fast,

a sudden jolt, a sharp, quick sting.

This heavy thing, a future past,

the constant burden that it brings.

My arm, it felt like someone else's limb,

a stranger, stiff beside my side.

The red mark on my skin, so grim,

a silent, plaster-colored tide.

It pins me down, a brutal truth,

a daily lesson, stark and plain.

This fragile, temporary youth,

caught in this heavy, useless pain.

I shift, I sigh, I try to sleep,

but it's still there, a constant friend.

A secret promise I must keep

until the slow, hard mend.