Tuesday, April 7, 2009

Tattoo. (7/30)

She inks poems like tattoos
An amateur artist in the making
Practicing penned pictures on paper
Permanent white corners invaded with black
A void so deliciously divine

Turned to needles because
She wanted a challenge
Progressed from forearms to inner thighs
Loving the way her veins swelled
With the contradicting vibrations

Soon her stomach showed sharp slips
Soft skin mangled with cross-outs

The lines weren't
Perfect
Enough.

So she'd let the tip trip
Across temples

So her mind could start sketching

Expecting masterpieces to come
Like the passing of day
Night shades on curves only created
Frustration

She needed another color.

Tip traveling
Drilling through dermis
Finding red ink underneath
Inspiration

Her fingers raced with the flow
Painting
Covering
Completing
Herself.

(Open to critiques...is the ending too much? Contradicting structures, etc...Be honest)

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