She came from where the quiet houses keep Their promises in gardens, buried deep Walked past the gate where she was meant to stay To find a truth that wouldn't fade away The parlor breathed in neon afterglow A sanctuary where the damaged go He worked beneath a single tungsten beam Turning skin into a waking dream "Press your history beneath my skin Let the ceremony now begin Where my wholeness was, let art reside Take what's kept, for what's applied" He tested ink, then spoke without disguise: "My deepest work requires a sacrifice Not silver, not obedience or time But that untouched reserve, that final line" She laid herself upon the leather bed No more unsaid things to be left unsaid A trade was made in silence, sharp and clean For colors where no colors had been seen "Press your history beneath my skin Let the ceremony now begin Where my wholeness was, let art reside Take what's kept, for what's applied" The buzzing sang a psalm of permanence As ink became her newfound evidence With every pass, the girl she was withdrew Leaving something altered, something new She stands beside the river's silver scroll Her body now a documented soul The cost remains between the needle's sting And what she gained by losing everything The garden grows in black and crimson thread Where once there was only what was left unsaid A living testament to what she chose The thorn, the bloom, the trade, the art that grows
