Tripped on nothing really

Tripped on nothing, really.

A raised slab of curb,

a whisper of asphalt

just high enough to catch.

Didn't fall, though.

Just the quick, sharp jerk

and that old familiar click

in the left one, the one that

holds the scar.

Not a clean line anymore,

where the skin pulled back.

More of a faint stretch,

like a story told too often,

stretched thin.

It throbs now,

a dull, deep ache,

a reminder of something

that never really healed,

just settled.