The needle

The needle comes and goes
forgotten completely
until the day it returns
biting skin and leaving indelible stains

Each mark etched
is no less than a word itself
spanning decades
Drawn in pains of grey

The words tell a story I have forgotten
like someone else’s map
The pain long gone
in stinging lines of black ink

Maybe the story is never finished
anymore than a stream running to sea
Maybe it is my story to the world
the story of here I am

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