Ink Colored Flesh
By Kevin Miller
The needle digs into my arm this time,
as I look at past creations from my mind.
Most are good, some are bad,
there's a name I wish I didn't have.
Each one carries a memory from a different time,
and even if I would have never got any, they would all still be mine.
The needle digs into my arm this time,
as I look at past creations from my mind.
Most are good, some are bad,
there's a name I wish I didn't have.
Each one carries a memory from a different time,
and even if I would have never got any, they would all still be mine.
dude, where the hell do ya keep getting these nice posts frm? ha! nice poem indeed. very truthful and meaningful.
ReplyDeleteit's a secret! but if you take the first flight back to Singapore, I'll tell ya! deal?
ReplyDeleteha! i would if could you have no idea how much i miss home. ha. and the sambal stingray, prata, teh tarik, laksa..
ReplyDeleteoh man..
oh man...i'm sorry Jon. I know you miss home and all. You'll be back soon right? November isn't too far away :)
ReplyDelete