This paint brush has become
an extension of my hand.
It has sunk it's color pumping living
veins into me.
Now, my hand aches
dripping crimson, everytime I put it down.

This pen has become an extension of my hand.
A sixth finger extends dripping ebony
ever scratching ivory surface,
vexing to keep the hourglass full,
of sand.

I am no longer
My body.
     I am my tools of creation.