Ink-stained skin, a canvas marred,
A misguided trend, universally scarred.
Once pristine, a body's grace,
Now disfigured, a peculiar chase.
No Ferrari adorned with stickers bold,
Yet on human flesh, tales are told.
Ghosts and skulls in curious array,
Mermaids dance in a perplexing display.
How does one find beauty in such disarray?
Stupid little pictures, lost in a strange ballet.
Incomprehensible, the choices made,
Aesthetic dignity in shadows laid.
Not a mural on a masterpiece rare,
But inked designs beyond compare.
Behind ears and beneath the chin,
A curious choice, a bizarre spin.
Oh, the folly of the ink, so widely embraced,
A puzzle confounding, minds interlaced.
Beauty, once pure, now submerged in the ink,
A dubious fashion, leaving contemplation to shrink.
No sticker on a Ferrari, a beacon of class,
Yet on human skin, a curious trespass.
In the mirror, reflections of regret,
For a trend that many won't forget.
Toutes les droites appartiennent à son auteur Il a été publié sur e-Stories.org par la demande de Rolph David.
Publié sur e-Stories.org sur 02.12.2023.
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