Girl waits anxiously,
Foot bouncing
Hands tapping
Mind in overdrive.

The woman in charge
Has her hair shaved on both sides
And tattoos covering her torso.
She takes two smoke breaks
And decides she might as well get paid.

Science? On your body? Whatever. Get in.

The girl holds out her foot
Pink and white and black
Ready and willing
To be punctured
Like the god's coloring book.
She talks to drown out the nerves.

Her friend follows
Awkwardly? Quietly?
Holds out fingers
To be used in case of emergency.
The first gets a vise grip on them
She starts singing pop-culture
From decades past to distract.
It just seems out-of-place.

The woman pays no attention.
bzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz
Refills her ink
As an artist must have supplies.
bzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz
She loves these needles
That penetrate and alter.
Allow the body to be a canvas
Both practical and beautiful.
bzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz

The girl's hand sweats
Death grips do that, I hear.
She has to wipe it off more than once.
Her friend is being little help.
She cringes!
Needle got close to bone
To nerves.
bzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz

She finishes
Puts away her needles
And her ink
Cleans her canvas
Though this was not her favorite artwork.
She sends them out.

She hobbles
Foot newly changed.
Human symbols now visible,
She is no longer just earth.
Her friend follows.

She now has the mark of humanity
Of science
Of society
Forever on her skin.
She now belongs to the world.

You words make me feel
Like I am an ethereal being
Both above and below
Made of nothing and all.

They fill me
Cover me
Take hold of my soul
And take it to beautiful places
Where words are the air
And verses are the trees.
And these trees are more beautiful
Than anyone can imagine.

Your writing takes hold of me
Softly alters my world
And makes me believe again.

My life is a strict routine
Of self-flagellation and control.
There are specific ways to handle
Every situation.
I manage to keep tight control
Over my own soul
By constantly reminding myself
That I'm not important.
It's not about me.
They won't remember me.

I think if I do it too harshly
Or too long without a break
It might accidentally break me.

I must keep this in mind.

I felt something today.

It wasn't positive
Or productive
And it was excessive.

But still.

I felt something.

It's just good to know that I haven't become permanently detached from humanity yet.

I'm sorry my temper flared,
Behind my eyes.
You weren't meant to know.

You are not the cause, my lady.
However, your actions speak louder
Than I could ever hope to express.
They are saying most inflammatory things.

Yes, anger may have me for now.
But soon it will leave
And you were never supposed to know.

I feel like the literary world
Is turning against me.
Words were my aloe
Comforted me
Let my bad aura out.
Instead, they infuriated me.
I went to that
Sacred house of books
The calming station.
I thought I was safe
It had me
Made me better.
Then it too failed me.
Tricked me into passivity
And caused me pain.
The pain of lost hope is greater than the pain of irrational anger.

I think words are forming an army against me
And I can't fight that.

Everything is far too
Temporary
To be important.

Jobs are passing.
School is passing.
People are passing.

The only reason anything is done
Is to help spend time
Until your time too passes.