The ink on my skin tells me to keep going
But the ink coming out of my fingers create messages of departure.
My head screams in my silence, urging me to punch me in the face until I can see the purple under my skin designing another art piece of my feelings...
Maybe everything would be different if I could sleep.
But maybe this insomnia is a way of keeping me breathing,
keeping me from following seducer Hypnos into the numbness of eternal slumber.