Burnt Shadows

The mirror cracked the glass on yesterday’s heat—

red blotches like bruises spread unevenly,

a harsh outline where my shirt held shade.

Peeling skin flakes in the bathroom light,

a map of every careless afternoon

traced in itch and sting and quiet regret.

Each patch a souvenir of sun's sharp hands,

a slow betrayal no one warned about,

a memory seared into skin’s thin pages.

The outline stays, stubborn as a scar,

holding onto heat like old debts do,

and I stand here wondering what I burned.