neisha

This is part of something i've been working on for a while... Is it fiction? Maybe. Or is it true? Perhaps...
All fiction has some truth in it.

***

I love my piercings. And my tattoos. The only beautiful things on an otherwise mediocre body. Sometimes I wonder if I got them just to experience the few moments when the needle slides through your flesh, when your mind is so concentrated and alive in that moment, all you know is that sensation.

I like pain sometimes. Theres something inexplicably magnetic about it to me. Only if its pain that I WANT to feel, though. Theres nothing erotic about a headache.

But the strange indescribable sweet burn of a piercing needle, a tattoo gun, even hot wax on bare skin thats something different altogether.

I always had this fascination within me, but she cultivated it with her lovely cruel hands, she brought it to bloom.
We would leave our marks on each other, bites and bruises, to fade and be renewed over and over.
Never any permanent scarring, though.
Not on the outside.

I love the scars I do have, though. Every single one. Not just those that Ive inflicted on myself, the accidental ones too. They tell more truths about me than any other part of my appearance.
Scars are souvenirs from moments past that you can never lose.

And seeing them comforts me, sometimes. Lets me remember my particular ways of dealing with the darkness that lives inside me. Sometimes the sight of my own blood soothes me. It reminds me that Im real.

***