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Sins Etched In Flesh
(Before)
The pristine needle prods into my raw flesh.
Carving an image of you in the canvas, (one of my extremities).
Sickened at the sight of my own blood slipping down my shaking arm,
that is vibrating with the faint hum of the jabbing piece of silver.
I have to picture the expression
that will be so beautifully painted and your warm, sun kissed face.
As you see the love I have for you embedded in my skin.
God is truly an artist and you m'dear are his masterpiece.
A living, breathing work of art.
My "Labor of love" is done, and so I walk out
Into the last seconds of the Twilight,
feeling the cold bitter late evening winds bite into my freshly bandaged wound.
Contentedly, I walk down the street with a radiant smile stitched on my frost bitten face.
And as I walk into "our" home I see you and
I remove the dressing from my newly inked skin and I show you my devotion.
But you just stare, woefully in awe ,and wordlessly and begin to cry.
"I take it you didn't like the way you were depicted"
I say to lighten up the darkened mood.
(After)
No more than 5 minutes ago I was thinking of a white picket fence.
Now I remember your words.
"It's over"
And I wonder if this bandage could wrap around a broken heart.
But more I wonder how long I have wait before I can get a cover up.
