Unseen Traces

I trace my finger, that nagging bite,

where wood buried deep, a secret I keep.

It whispers reminders of something not right,

a splinter that stays, in silence it creeps.

An ache like a memory, tender yet bold,

nestled in shadows, like ghosts we hold tight.

What lessons lie hidden, in pain to unfold?

Each tug brings a question, a stitch in the night.

It’s caught in a place where I can’t reach to grab,

like thoughts left unfinished, some story unspooled.

I poke at the surface, a feeling that drabs,

but the splinter persists, quietly cruel.