day in day out

It's born on you
like a hairlip.
It pulls you out from slumber
with possibilities and fills you
with stars,
dragging you into the sky with them
sparkling black.

It itches behind your eyeballs
when you wish to forget,
it's awake as you sleep,
haunting with insanity when sanity
is what is needed.

Every image cries for description
wether it has one or not.
You can't dull it or break it off
in a heavy fall, you can't drown it
in a bath of cool water or scrape
it from your skin.

It's on you,
Born,
like a hairlip, a bruise inside
that grows and shrinks
with every mood but it never leaves
not until you leave.

It's art
for life.