Scar Tissue and TattoosScars are tattoos with better stories. A fairly well-known adage. Have you ever really thought about it? Someone with a life so uninteresting, so devoid of risk and danger, that they have to go into the dank basement of some miserable, homely ex-biker who has lived more than they ever will, and pay him a week's salary at the factory he used to work in to carve pretty, fake scars into their unmarred flesh? Are their existences really so devoid of experience that they have to put an artificial symbol that someone else came up with under their skin, enlisting the help of a complete stranger? Paying him to do it?More Like This
Fuck that, friends and neighbors. My forearms and hands are bony masses of scars, scars on top of scars. Scars piled high. Burns, bruises, callouses, healed-over gashes, dead skin like a crocodile's hide, turning purple with the winter. Each scar has a story. A chronology. It's own lineage. Rage, sorrow, disappointment, violence, work, play. I can tell the tale behind each scar. W
The Breathing TombstoneBeneath the sterile white lights I could see every mutation.More Like This
We stood by the convenience store's register desk, and while Bones and my greasy stoner cousin made smalltalk with her, I could do nothing but gape. It had been three years since I'd seen her. She'd been one of my muses once, although I would never have been able to tell her that then. Smart and bold and crazy. A stalwart individualist, and maybe better read than I. She was going to be someone. Hell, she was already someone. She was going to become someone more. Growing up in this shithole, I'd met too many walking corpses; living breathing human fertilizer just waiting for the right combination of circumstance to end their fruitless lives and shuffle them the fuck off this mortal coil. Almost everyone I've ever met, in fact. She was one of the exceptions. She was going to make it out here one day, I knew it. I could feel it.
Cocaine had carved out deep lines next to her mouth and her eyes, the gouges wrinkling into crow's fe