Writing poems on your scars, I glorified every inch of your existence devouring blood like oxygen, you filled my veins with resistance building up walls against each shot, like a sanctuary in a war zone - you could put the colosseum to shame, a haven of stories of your own.

How you thump and beat, while the wolves chase you how you defy the highway’s heat, with the hawks circling you gentle, yet, roaring - you gracefully breakthrough.

Scattered like a chaotic work of art, I could not tell you and sunshine apart. My tough, old flesh machine - tell me how you have been?