Worn Shadows

Slipping into old suede,

its roughness scratching a quiet argument

under my skin.

Light falls patchy,

shadows pooling in the scuffed places,

the stubborn stain of years—

like moods that won’t settle.

Edges curling like tired skin,

the jacket wears its past like a bruise,

soft and stubborn,

not quite healing,

not quite gone.