Etched on skin

 Red scars now faded with time to silver; meander like contours across my body. They map the years of openings and re openings; of harsh lights, soft voices and blue scrubs. The sting of anaesthetic and the hand of a stranger; as tubes pushed deep into veins, and sutures tugged at soft flesh. 

In the aftermath, when poisons ceased to seep into every cell, and syringes no longer a part of daily routine; I began to reclaim this tired body moulded by circumstance and surgeon's scalpel; becoming familiar with new curves and old wounds. 

Five years from the cold realisation of a hard lump under probing fingertips; I have taken control - etching upon skin a design of my own choosing, to tame both scars and memories; the sting of needle and ink a mere ghost of what has already been.

 A lotus now blooms along my spine, with hamsa to ward off further ills... realigning chakras and letting in light once more..... A fitting ending to a dark episode.