Inked

It is funny.
The way my actions belie my words.
The way I etch on my skin
what brews in my heart.
The three, they don't match.
They are the fragments
Of the split in me.
Confusing, lying, laughable.
Or maybe it is just the dark strain in me.
With every little prick on the skin,
I dig the words deeper.
A reminder. A benchmark.
Of this is what my life has been.
This is how it will always be.
So the words I say and the words you see,
See the link? What about my heart then.
Nope. Heart ain't always a mushy pulsating lump.
It can be battered tough ball of strength.
That goads me to ink the words.
Funny. It is painfully funny.
The way my actions support my words.