Above my skin

above my skin


Brushes and colors may not be my tools

but come under blankets and see what sheets can do.

It could be the sunset

but it was not;

It was the sound of a soul

who had its heart sold.

My skin seems to be marked

by all your past mistakes

but there’s nothing I regret –

more – than covering them up.

You were the sun –

And you set me on fire.


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