To the boy who has decorated himself in as many tattoos as I have.
I hear you have been around, and no I am not judging you, so have I.
I think it is funny that people who have branded themselves for life with ink are the ones with the commitment issues.
And no this is not a love poem, my feelings for you are not as permanent as our body art.
Your body is a masterpiece, as much as a cliche as that is.
I am going to go as crazy as Van Gogh trying to touch you canvas, trying to paint you starry night.
I want to stretch myself over your skin like another one of your tattoos.
I am used to needles piercing flesh so do not hold back, I do not mind a little sting.
The last tattoo I got bled and bruised.
I want you to leave me fresh wound.
I know these violent delights have violent ends.
But I am so fucking ready to drown in ink.