On both of my arms, above the elbow and beneath the shoulder
Are nail dent sized scars
Scattered
Littered
Protruding from my skin

They are nothing of pride or honour
But chronological constellations, forming diagrams of directions
For the next butcher to try their hand

Even my blood and veins carry a stubbornness that not even a scalpel can dissect
They refuse help and will not admit defeat
Until my body is burning and my lungs are lurching for a breath that will not keep me up at night

And just like that
They flow