The Face Marker

Watching the TV, there was a report.

A report on someone engaging a new blood sport.

People were showing up with bloody carvings on their face

And the person responsible was not leaving a single trace.

The one survivor said the last thing they remembered was a Purin Singing.

Oh, what delight it must have been to hear such a sweet melody ringing!

I remembered hearing one before I lost my hearing.

Such a melodious sound in a large forest clearing.

I remember waking up hours later with my face covered in an odd design

But that encounter ended just fine.

I'm still here, still alive, still remembering Purin's perfect tone

My only loss was my replica Purin microphone

I got had gotten it from a crafter

One who gave it to me with great laughter

As to the simpleness of the design

And he promised that it would easily be mine

And what a craft it was to behold!

It's gleam would not easily get old

As I jubilantly ran from the store

Happy to my deepest core

But now I wonder what happened to that shiny mic.

Maybe it was stolen by some passing tyke.

Although I'd hope they'd turn it in

Because there is no marker held within

Only a metallic blade coated with thin black slush

Meant to appear like Purin's comic brush