[pluck] She loves me.
[pluck] She loves me not.
[pluck] She . . . loves . . . me.
This thing is barely dry.
Not to mention the pusy inflamation.
And now this pretty flower says I’m a fool,
this damn tattoo plastered over my heart,
your name, incrusted, a scabby symbol of our love.
I finally believed we’d be together for eternity.
Now the uncertainty.
My love life’s been forecasted by the powerful daisy since Kindergarten.
You’re the only one it’s steered me to that stuck.
Just my f**ing luck.
Now I’ll dread the ringing of the phone inviting me to die alone.
And every time I see you in the mirror, bold and black,
you’ll be that distant memory never to be coming back.
Except for laser removal; I’ll look into that.
I read the other day they’ve developed a new ink.
The tat will fade over five years’ time.
Oh well, no use crying over injected ink.
But just five years, damn, it makes you stop and think.