Patterns

I place a hand over my forearm and scratch white lines into color stained skin, a fingernail trail carving love into a tree. Cursive confessions against scar tissue fade to the flushing red of broken capillaries as swelling skin buries secrets in Braille. I close my eyes and trace the skin, watching patterns of release shining bright behind eyelids, and I hold my breath until stars explode in dramatic illumination of fading words. Distant pain remains, and I scratch a reminder not to forget.