I am struck by the ease with which we can permanently mark ourselves

Pieces of past hastily patched onto my skin in the form of
Ugly makeshift collagen, stitching over my damage
Nourished and replenished with the rest of me as a part of the whole

Needles bleed into incisions.
The open wounds, thirsting for antiseptic, willingly drink the laden ink,
Realizing their mistake a moment too late;
The moment it takes to sterilize – Paralyze – The helpless cells.
They don’t stand a chance against the poison.

Their battle is forever embalmed
Frozen in time by scar tissue

We age.
A spot appears for every story, A crease appears for every original thought,
So that someone could trace your skin as a map of your life
And read the dents and blemishes as easily as they read these words,

If only they would take the time to truly see another person.