Sting and stain

The can lid, sharp, a quick slice,

a bead of red, welling up slow.

Then the amber bottle, precise,

a drop that makes the wound glow.

The sting, immediate, clean,

a shock that races through the hand.

This is how healing has been,

a burn to make the body understand.

An orange stain, a brutal art,

left behind on fragile skin.

A price paid, right from the start,

to let the slow mending begin.