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.