Tattoo

I wrote it on my arm With a Bic pen Ballpoint, black ink I've been doing it since I was ten The black letters, bold Emphatically overlapped again and again I write the words To express my idiosyncrasies from within It's the oil for my skin Because I'm constructed of tin Sometimes it feels like a pin Penetrating holes in me that I only see when my vision starts to spin That's the kind of state I'm in My poor mama and papa think it's a sin Because with every stroke it feels like a piece of my soul is tossed straight into the bin But I still wrote it on my arm with a grin