~Staining you~
Like a rock without moss I always roll,
To the corners of our country to follow my soul,
My hands are as soft as a child’s virgin ass,
But my soul is as tough as its hammered mast.
My hands come alive when holding pen,
Your skin starts to perspire as I pound ink in.
Your butterfly dances on wings of skin,
A portrait of your daughter tells where she began.
What magic will I give you as we start to dance?
Could it be for strength or because you want to be inchanted?
A name, a flower, or something evil and trance,
Watch as it comes to life this is my chance.
All you have to do is tell me where to start,
The gift I give you comes from my heart.
My craft is not really of taking souls,
It’s really the art of simply making colored holes.
So ask me what you will and please be polite,
You don’t want me mad when you feel my bite.
~Inkmaster~
(C) today...lol
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