There is a thick ink
Stamped upon our skin
On our cheeks and on our nose
In our hair and on our toes

We swim in ink
We sink in ink

Underneath fingernails and in between teeth
Splattered on backs, sprinkled on our knees

Dripped in our eyes
Inky colors are all we spy

For we live in an inky world
Printed on papers, and on walls
Painted pools, ready for falls

With mucky eyes and sticky fingers
We search about and linger

Blindly stumbling through
Hoping for the day someone can wipe the filth away

Awaiting the arrival of a spotless being
One who will not go fleeing

But such a thing is not feasible
For we are all stained and pained
The reality of immaculateness is nonexistent