a reading between scarred lines

my lifeline was cut by shattered green glass Broken from the whiskey bottle you discarded at sunrise when I was only three Scarred crossed-stitched lines where coarse blue thread once tied the scraps of skin together made it impossible for the palm reader to clearly say when I would be dead Yet, I remember that day walking carefree with the wild flowers swaying in a gentle breeze sun warmed my shoulders as I picked up shards of green glass in the abandoned lot across the busy city street