they paint their nails dark shades of midnight
and wear clothes the color of ink
crying drops of ebony eyeliner
and listening to music angry as black
to the beat of clinking chains on their raven jeans

i think they are trying to mark up the world
with their sharpies
silently screaming "i am here"

i would rather be clothed in shadow
painting my nails in shades of heather
leaving my face bare and ashen
and listening to chords simple as grey
to the slow beat of plain charcoal strings around my wrists

i just doodle in the corner of my backyard
with light strokes of my pencil
wishing to disappear