tattoo
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You sink into my mind
you play a game, no rules
i hear their whispers
they are coming
i can feel my blood boiling
don't you know i've been waiting
turn off the lights
Ink
It leaves a black stain
Where the needle grazed my skin
Marking a moment of impulse and rebellion
When my body wanted to hurt
dear idol i
want to be like you
dear idol i
want to be you
scratched your name into my arms
your face is my tattoo
your tattoo is my face
i've been listening a decade
*Trigger Warning: Self Harm*
The stencil is made, a bold, yet simplemark with two meanings. For writers,the mark is used to continue a sentence;for others, the mark is used to continue a life.
Tattoo gun buzzing
Adrenalin rushing
Needles are not my friend
But I know I’ll love this in the end
A tattoo in my grandfather’s memory
Permanently etched into me
My first tattoo is done
You told the bird you don't like the way it sits on my wrist.
You don't like how it would permanently stay.
You don't like its meaning.
And to make you happy the bird would have to sacrifice its own life in pain.
At first they're painful, but then they get sore
At first they're exciting, but soon start to bore
Yet people still stick them on their skin
Only rarely regretting their sin
There stand some marks upon her arm,
Voluntary strikes in black and blue,
Words that comfort, words that declare
In simple script, “Because I love you.”
The ink of laughter painted across my rib
Flat beyond opinion,
Line below a beat.
representing a break, the breath, a life.
The greens and blues
of circles and spaces of stars and faces
The ink of laughter painted across my rib
Flat beyond opinion,
Line below a beat.
representing a break, the breath, a life.
The greens and blues
of circles and spaces of stars and faces
Passing seasons never falter
Ink inscribed skin ever after
Heart ache a burning volcano
I hear a bird's song of sorrow
How can I rise from this abyss
When all I want is to remiss
The torturous emotions
I know a girl
with 'perfect' written on her wrist,
and I think it’s funny because
it isn’t perfect at all.
When I say perfect, I mean it literally -
On my ribs they stay,
Permanently marked,
A reminder to my heart.
Sixteen stitches, black and beautiful,
Surrounded by words above and below.
Words that gave me strength,
Tired irrational thoughts Miss the page and end up inked blots What use is this? Too many thoughts for paper to hold I thought this would clear my mind or so I was told Time to be bold
India ink harpoons its way into fabric
strung around alabaster bone,
staining cloth with polychromic significance,
injecting an artist’s rendering of alternative beauty
between the stitches
ink flowers peeking
beneath my business suit blouse
why must they judge me
It's funny how this machine could get you so excited. It gets me excited.Simply seeing the coils and the cords, the needles and the inks in their cups.I fill up with such happiness and ecstasy, it's amazing.
The skin
that I am in
is my own
For it is something that
I could never loan
It is the bark on my bones
the shell on my back
It is the canvas of life
for the voice that I lack
Bumper stickers unite!
There has been a victory today.
Hello Mister Ferrari
Heard you made a power play
Red means stop!
Mistakes don’t really wash away…
Ink, thick in the air
wafts a seductive tale
of permanence.
The room is abuzz
with anticipation
and cat-scratch pain.
The prick, the squeal
of newly minted adults
