My story. My life. I write so I can express my thoughts, my worries, my good times and the bad. Ha, but paper? Yes it comes in handy but does it run through your veins? Can the ink pierce through the paper to my skin? No. My ringlets of life prosper through my veins. Ink drawn, flowing through me. I'll draw all my worries and sins let them penetrate my skin. I'll leave the paper for the mainstream, I'll leave the paper for the less creative. As this golden pen sweeps across me I'll explain my life through riddled doodles and symbols, so they can see. So I can see. My story. My life.