To the eyes of the world, I’m like every other person, no different from each other
A dark brunette hair, eyes that sweat, a nose that leaks, ears that hears, a mouth that speaks, lips to match, hands that bleeds, but…
Of course, I’m not like any other, no one really is
Behind closed doors, deep inside the shadows, passing the alley of despair, my monsters hide, lurking in my pool of pains, feeding off my traumas
My pains glues to my skin, sticking closer and closer, burning me, with each passing day slowly turning into a permanent tattoo, my permanent tattoos
No matter how hard I tug on my skin, scrubbing and scrubbing tirelessly as I bathe, nothing seems to change
No matter how hard or how far I throw, calculating each velocity change, each diameter, each distance, I can’t lose them into the aisle of the abyss, never to be returned or to be found
With each passing moment, I slowly see that my permanent tattoos are both stumbling and building blocks
Proving to be both the negative and positive poles in my life
So before the world looks at me as if I'm identical to the people around me
They should be strongly aware that my tattoos, how I handle them and how I make use of them are what makes me different clearly pin pointing me out from the crowd