Lead Dust

Too hard,

too fast.

The point snapped clean,

a dark, small shard.

It jumped, a black seed,

landed on my thumb,

left a smear, a bleed

of thought, come undone.

A grey stripe there,

under the nail,

a quiet wear

from this small fail.

The wood smells sharp,

the broken lead

a silent, dark

word unsaid.