February 10, 2013
This poem has two inspirations: 1. My depression. 2. A picture of a girl with arm tattoos. A Facebook friend sent me the picture and asked if I could do some editing on it. I did a LOT of editing, about eight different versions. I asked the Facebook friend if I could use one of the edited pics (tattooed arms only) for a poem I was writing. The girl who posed for the pic said, 'NO!" I couldn't believe it. So, new rule: No working on pics for someone else unless I can use a copy of the edited pic in my poetry!
I had to improvise... I needed an arm pic (hee) for the poem... and it had to have a tattoo of blood on it. I thought about getting some chocolate syrup to design a "blood tat" on myself. But I couldn't find any chocolate syrup at the convenience store... ah, well, it would have been a sticky mess anyway. So I found a pic of my own arm that I had and added some red to it to give it that 'blood" feeling I was looking for. And I don't think it came out too bad:
Tattoo
There
is a darkness, a black and
wiry
hopelessness, a string of runny
thought
that's bored its way beneath
my skin.
My fingers cannot scratch it out,
a razor
isn’t sharp enough to dig it up.
My
heart screams… blood
sculpts
a crimson tattoo
across
my forearm, red
rivers
stream their way
toward the
knotted wrinkles
that surround
my elbow.
This
evening picks at scabs,
slaps
me around a bit
until
my cheeks turn pink
and my
eyes begin to swell.
Time is
such a hateful bitch;
she
doesn’t care for those
who do not
use her well.
If I
could sleep forever, I would.
If I
could close my eyes right now,
I
would. I’d never open them again.
—rrw o2-1o-13
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