ink

I could smear this canvas in paint and expensive pictures.

I could cover every blemish and harmful marking.

I could make it black and white, or vibrant with every color in the sky.

But there is always a reality behind that.

I’m dragging needles through my skin to cover pain.

I’m wearing my heart on my sleeve, but it’s just a picture.

The colors fade, my skin shows again,

And I’m still the same person

Before all of the ink.