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here lies destruction
upon my bloodied arm
an end to all
brought on only by
my will and hand
art
I heard somewhere once that our bodies are like canvases and that each scar, each mark, makes us masterpieces.

I am more detailed than most, for my arms and legs are littered with cross hatches, a particular artistic technique that I favour.

But you look at me, the critical eye of an outsider with harsh words on your tongue and I wonder whether, despite the fact that our bodies are canvases, some people like yourself prefer the minimalist modern art.

— The End —