Split Skin

Kitchen light spills cold and white,

catching the pink line on my palm.

Knife slipped—too quick to catch,

slicing a shallow river across skin.

Blood welled like a small betray,

and I blinked against the sting,

watching it bloom then fade.

Years later, the scar shimmers faint,

a thin raised line that flickers

under the hum of fluorescent glow.

A careless moment folded tight

between fingers and memory,

a skin-bound echo of a split second.