flaming jewels

Blood, ink, and all that jazz...

I needed someone to put the tears back in my eyes.

Instead, I went to the tattoo artiste.

I stepped in through red velvet curtains. Red walls. Skulls of gold and black. Drying roses. A paper cup with "hello kitty." The biohazard symbol.

The setting sun slipped underneath the red curtains and I lay down.

I curled up like a child as he worked. Left knee pulled up to my chest. Arms wrapped around me, holding myself together. Hands resting on my shoulders, cradling my own body. My cheek pressed lightly to the table.

I glanced in the ornate full-length mirror across from me. Sunset filtered even more red through the curtains. My skin was especially pale. My hair gleamed gold and copper. My eyes were very, very dark.

It was a medium-sized pain, but I still had to concentrate on it. Funny, I thought, looking into my own eyes, no matter how big or small the pain, you still need to meet it with equanimity. You couldn't ignore pain. Well, I couldn't...

My leg muscles twitched when my thoughts wandered. I brought myself back to the present moment, to my body...

I watched the artiste dab the blood from my leg. Was that red ink or blood streaking up my calf?

For hours I danced with my old partner, pain. He allowed me to lead, gracious tonight. A gentleman. We pressed close to one another swaying to the jazz that snuck in with the fading light.

Blood and ink, but no tears.

Eyebrows like wings, eyes like deep holes.

But I can't cry.

He finished and I asked for the cloth he'd used to soak up my blood. I pressed it to my lips, breathing in the danger, as I walked out into the street, hungry...

Blood and ink and all that jazz.

I followed the sound of the horns, wandering.

Who would put the tears back in my eyes?

jewel@gleeful.com
a seraph production