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Paint drips disguise and
obliterate lies like ink-
daubed tattoos on eyes
fooling unconditional
considerate conviction.
Tanka Style Poem 5-7-5-7-7
WickedHope Sep 2015
The roses are dying
The ones on my skin
They are wilting
Wearing thin
Rain.
Amelia Pearl Sep 2015
Tattoos are supposed to be permanent.
They are supposed to stay in your life forever.
You were mine and I was yours.

But last I found out,
You drew me with a pen.
And with time you let me fade.
Replacing me with another name.
Angel M Sep 2015
I badly wanted to erase you,
Peel off each color,
Forget each pigment,
Scratch away each line…
But you’re still always there,
Seemingly mocking me,
Like a tattoo I can’t just simply wash away…
ZL Aug 2015
Today I got a tattoo,
it reminded me of you.

It hurt like hell,
made me cry,
sadness swelled up in my right eye.

I like things that are bad for me I wonder why?

But it's very beautiful, so now I'm happy,
although at first the feeling was really ******.
Ariana Robinson Aug 2015
The needle ****** my body
Ink flows from its point
Caressing my skin, creating memories
Could be a reminder
Or a message
The telling of a story
The marking of words and images
Upon my body to cover my scars
And turn them into art
Maggie Emmett Aug 2015
Lady Macbeth washed her hands
cleaner than Pontius Pilate
with a new improved, bio-enzyme
oxy-bursting, 99.9% germ-scouring
recommended by dermato-logists
scented with rose attar
oils from Arabia
and spermaceti soothing
unguents from long dead whales.

She’s going to the nail bar
for a manicure and application
of semi-permanent, diamond-
tipped, acrylic base-coated
in red blood enamel.

She’ll scratch
and etch rich tattoos
on her husband’s back
with every ******, he will shudder
with pain and delight
He’ll soon forget long, dark nights
bewitched by ghosts and ambition.

© M.L. Emmett
Alternate views of Literature
Linguistic Play Aug 2015
i press memories into my skin
just to have a constant visualization of them
another one, a different view
the thought would rattle you, if you only knew
your body takes an idea, makes it beautiful
i trace the lines while you echo the stories
of each driving space that hurt less than the thought
Ix Ryley Jul 2014
Ink
You're ink.
I'm the quill:
I lounge, idle and mute
For want of your color on my parchment.

Like ink you've spilled
Into my life
And like ink you'll stay
Forever stained, an unfading tattoo.
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