​My friends and lovers, 

Trudge back from battle, 

That serve no purpose, 

Than to give us 

Growth marks and scars. 

Our bodies,  become canvas,  

Punctured and pigmented, 

Painted with mementos, 

Of lives lived hard and fast. 

Past thoughts engrained,  indelibly, 

As blacker memories, 

With blacker ink. 

Our skins are maps, 

Of who we were, 

Where we come from, 

Who we’ve become, 

And where we’ll come to be. 

Kevin Brown © 01.08.2016