I feel compelled to write about my new tattoo, especially because a couple reactions were, “why him?” Follow me on a short but wonderful journey of self discovery and mild ink addiction.
Although I haven’t climbed these stairs in years
they always sound the same
under my feet,
creak and splinter,
in the same spots.
I only see you in dreams.
Don’t dwell on it
Don’t think about what could have been
In the middle of a headache
I imagine my nerves are the roots of a tree.
A gentle caress from familiar fingertips
a longing to be wrapped up,
to a past intoxication.
These bones are iron
She did this to herself.
Oblivion would be greeted with open arms,
and you will be turned away at the door.
Words bring forward stars,
to forge a world from the ink,
your heart will write.
I can no longer tell if this shadow
was created or always was.
Is it possible to split this heart in two and give away the pieces?
They are sharp, jagged.
not perfect halves.