Ink stains, blood stains, and tear stains;
thing that leave a mark... unlike me.

Ink stained hands,
blood stained clothes,
and tear stained cheeks.

I’m just full of non-existent clichés these days.

As I smear my wishful stains
all over your pristine face,
you ask me what’s on my mind
and just what it is I’m looking for.

Apparently, it wasn’t you.
And, obviously, it was never me.

My stains always wash clean.
Just give it a little elbow grease.

(you’ll never even know I was there.)

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