Words On My Skin

I’m writing new words on my skin.
Words of connections, intentions.
There are trails of archaic brandings .
Cursives of misconceptions.
Words not from my unfolding mind
but of thoughtless, prying, hungry hands.
The formations I see are strange to me now,
all clustered in faded ink.
Crude patterns on lines, hollows and curves.
I scrub with habitual ferocity
til my skin is raw and tortured.
I’m learning some words are enduring so
I must hook them into new stories
as I inscribe with indelible precision.
I’m writing til my mind bleeds new thoughts.
I’m writing til I break my skin.
I’m writing with an uncompromising violence
with a wild, unbridled devotion,
spilling more ink than necessary.
I will write in excess.
I will write
until the ink runs out
until my body fails me.

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