You tripped into my life
with a pen behind one ear,
just looking for some new skin
to write on.
I hear it’s easier
to write your lyrics out
on someone else’s wrists,
feeling your soul
on skin that never belonged to you.
Like a coffee stain on a tablecloth,
like a paint spot on the carpet.
Your ink seeps into my bloodstream,
but it’s poison
infecting my fragile heart
one inky letter at a time.
At the end of the day the words will wash away
but the shadows of ink stains 
under my fingernails

This poem is about: 


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