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I wanna tell the story of my scars, so less the public has permitted myself to tour them through the real story behind my tattooed evidence, I mean the art of my bodily embroidery, so painful as joy and peace having no spot in my skin masterpieces, for only hell being behind the ink that tattooed these scars

Its so sad and less to those who claimed to knew and know me , for they knew not that I carry much more scary scars inside than whats at  display outside, less you knew that the very scars have roots walled with rubbles, that buried so many emotions inside me, less you know I hear voices that haunts my spirit to rest every time I connect my scars memories cable, turning my whole into disrepute and so fatal agony 

These marks on my body are tombs with memories buried alive, I hear the beating, the screaming and the kicking and crying, with my name on a repetitive mode, that turns my body and soul restless. 

I wanna say, I too carry victories in these scars but those are a drop into these oceans of my scars. 

These maps are alive inside my body, daily, so much of fresh wounds, like slithered neck blood, still warm and alive, could smell and taste them like its seconds away they occurred 

I wanna tell the story of these scars but its a jungle to fused and cramped my hair wanna leave my head when I wanna think of them, my heart turn pitch black, please don't ask me to go back there. In these scars the flames still rages, please don't ask me to go back there, please

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