Flat Numbers

The cool metal kissed my sole.

I stepped on, held my breath.

The red numbers started to roll,

a brief, digital death.

They flickered, then settled, stark and bright,

against the sterile floor.

A flat, undeniable light,

asking for nothing more.

Just that. A weight, a solid line.

My own body, stripped bare.

No history, no complex design,

just numbers hanging there.