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Art On A Canvas

Your lines and dots mark stories across my skin

From beginning to end

An ongoing expression of my soul’s darkest secrets

A message in a bottle

In an undulating river

Shooting stars across the night’s sky

Leaving hidden gems above the heads of each passer-by.

I was led, once, to believe you were the marks of a criminal

An outcast of society.

But each time your needle breaks the surface,

I feel another part of me set free.

I think it’s the pain I love the most,

The pain that makes you permanent

In your ink I tell my stories

It’s where I hold my venom and

Out from my head, my heart, my mind

I draw my greatest wishes and desires to place on my

Body as a forever reminder

That I felt something once.

Something magical, a miracle

That I am still alive

Satiracle, a pinnacle

Of what I have inside.

So here you are, matched with my piercings

To show the world what I cannot say

I’m an addict, I must admit, and very soon I may

Cover my whole body in black lines and dots

For what I cannot put into words.

I thank you for providing art on a canvas

And allowing wounds to be transferred

From the very depths of my soul.

I still don’t feel whole

I really must thank the empty spaces, too

For allowing room for you to grow.

And what stories will you tell the world when my soul is no longer here?

“Here lies the canvas of a woman whose art told her to persevere.”

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