The black marks

I have created many black marks on my soul…not mere smudges to be wiped away with time, but permanent alterations to my essence. Marks that were carved by choices made in dust and blood, in lands where mountains watched with ancient indifference.

These marks appeared under foreign stars, in moments when survival meant becoming someone else, when the distance between protector and destroyer collapsed to the width of a trigger pull, the edge of a blade. Each decision etched in darkness across my spirit.

I made some shadows visible: ravens inked across my back, watching over memories, a knife-pierced skull marking transformation, Permanent witnesses to what I've seen and done. But beneath these tattoos lie deeper marks no one can see.

I carry them like tattoos beneath the skin, Invisible to others yet defining everything I am. The weight of lives taken and saved, of brothers lost and promises made, of all I've done and failed to do.

These black marks tell stories I cannot speak aloud. They tell of eyes that met mine in the final moments, the sound a soul makes as it departs, and how death feels when it passes close enough to touch, before choosing another instead of you.

These shadows consumed me for years, spreading like ink in water until I could not recognize myself. I became a stranger in my own life, a ghost haunting the periphery of normality, constantly scanning horizons for threats only I could see.

But darkness, when faced directly, reveals its particular wisdom. These black marks became my teachers…harsh and unforgiving mentors in the brutal art of human truth.

I learned that we all cast shadows, that light and dark exist together, that growth comes not from erasing our marks but from understanding what they mean, what they can build rather than what they destroyed.

Life has left many black marks on my soul. They are my burden, my history, my identity. They are not badges of honor or shame but coordinates on a map I never chose to draw. Yet, I must navigate with whatever courage remains.

These marks connect me to every person who has ever walked through fire and emerged transformed, to every soul who bears invisible wounds, to everyone who knows that survival itself sometimes comes at a devastating cost.

I no longer hide these shadows. They have become my strange companions, chorus of ghosts, and council of memories. Together, we walk this path of redemption, not seeking forgiveness but understanding.

I have created a lot of black marks on my soul, and they have, in turn, made me. This version who knows both darkness and light, who carries death yet chooses life, who bears witness to what was while building what might still be.