The bike frame cracked beneath my palm

The bike frame cracked beneath my palm,

ridges of rust where silver used to gleam.

Paint peeled like old scabs, revealing

metal tired and scarred.

Fingers scraped the rough edges,

a roughness like an apology long overdue.

It wore anger quietly,

a galvanized heart losing the fight.

Once shiny, now brittle,

a reminder that even the hardest skin

can crack and bleed rust.