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The Art

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The art ain't painted in ink,
Yet the inkpot's filled with crimson,
The instrument ain't a pen,  
To express emotion.  

The art ain't painted in ink,
Neither is it the paper edition, 
The blade carves it out on the wrist,
The fluid flows to the bowl of crimson.

The art ain't painted in ink,
What seems are deep scratches of crimson,
It's the untold part of one's story,
The unexpressed grief of the Artisan.

                                        - Sam Penn 
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