Flesh Wounds

 
Staring at half-moon
puncture wounds in my palms
such small, tender remnants
of emotion barely contained
when everything under my skin
turned molten and struggled to erupt
from my quietly fracturing façade
held together by force of will
and fiercely clenched fists

I contemplate injuries unseen
contrast the speed of their healing
and understand why
these surface-level distractions
are so compelling
run my finger along the damage
strangely sad that the ache
will quickly fade away