March of the Tattoos

She's collecting tattoos at a rapid pace. How many is to many, it's hard to say. Sometimes I think they're just a distant sign. From a clouded spirit, a distant cry. Pigmented therapy for long lost lullaby? Maybe that line of sanity is breeched. When the ink spills onto the hands and face. The two things that separate man from beast. The last things we flash to the world. Before the lid snaps shut on our masterpiece