T a t t o o
I've never understood the pictures drawn into the flesh.
They decorate, they fabricate, they re-create themselves,
Up their arms and down their backs, the ink lines cross like mesh-
A multitude of colours, bottled on the shelves.
I have tattoos made from a knife-
Memories of pain.
Each a map, traced from my life,
Another day kept sane.
Each time that death has come and laid a brutal kiss
I've tried and saved another.
One miss step, a bullet missed,
Has saved another brother.
And as I bleed across the tar
Life tattoos another scar.
What did you think?