words from a mind that is only cracked.

Another Man's Art

My brain's a stack of parchment
My heart's got turning pages.
I'm nothing but some literature
Passed down throughout the ages.
My teeth are white erasers,
My joints are held by poems.
My bones are made of stories.
My mouth's an author of its own.
My skin is drawn in colored pencil,
My spine's like that of a book.
My irises are painted in watercolor,
And through them I can look.
My lungs inhale and exhale rhymes,
Black ink runs through my veins.
And scrawled behind my eyelids is
The story of my pain.
I'm built on someone else's words,
No piece of me is my own.
I'm just another man's artwork;
I've never had a home.
People pick me up to read me
Then they just toss me away.
But the only thing I really want
Is a reason I should stay.