On skin so pale, the ink does lay,
A tale of times, of night and day.
Each line, each curve, a story told,
In whispers soft, in voices bold.

The needle’s dance, a silent song,
Of pain and joy, it won’t take long.
With every touch, a memory seared,
A heart laid bare, a soul endeared.

Colors blend in perfect hues,
A canvas rich with life’s own views.
From dragons fierce to roses sweet,
Each image marks a journey’s beat.

Forever etched, these marks remain,
Through love and loss, through joy and pain.
A testament to paths we choose,
In ink we find what we can’t lose.