Inkspots on my fingers,
Inkspots on the page.
Inkspots from my leaky pen
Throw me in a rage.
If I was an artist, then
I might treat them as clay…
But as it stands, I wad them up
And throw the mess away!
'Cause some make art from errors
And some make truth from pain…
But sometimes I just make mistakes.
I guess I’ll start again.
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