I die A thousand Deaths, And cry A thousand Tears Inky drops Become Soft crease— On coarse skin, Renewed Fears I write This very Poem To tattoo it On your Skin White ink Is so translucent— Such a Slight, Poetic Sin I die A thousand Deaths, And cry A thousand Tears If only I’d read this On my palm— To get prepared For life’s exam But fact is, History Tells me, You can’t Read Between Inked lines I die A thousand Deaths, And cry A thousand Tears Profound verse, Quenching Thirst For life— Would tell You about Poetic Strive You die A thousand Deaths, And cry A thousand Tears Some dark Drop Stains, Soft, Wrinkled Skin On book Unwritten, Dark, And stark, And torn, And loud, And Magic, Start. And Feared. So. White. Teared.
