Tattoos
At home, alone by the kitchen sink
Quaking hands pick up a needle.
Ink.
Pours over my arms. I conceal
Everything the bloody bruises itch to reveal.
At home, alone by the kitchen sink
Weathered nerves refuse to feel
Blink
Twice if you need help, I try
But my eyes are forever changed by the dye.
At home, alone by the kitchen sink
I am a magician; I make thoughts disappear until the
Brink
Of exhaustion, I am my own abuser,
Above the flesh of my forearm I’ve inked the word loser.
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