The tension that surrounds the human heart can be as determined as a new born baby’s fight for life . To have that tension squeezing harder and harder is having your blood running through your
veins as fast as it can. The faster your blood runs, the faster you can run. The farther you can run away from your own hell.
Eighteen years of memories lie sprawled across his flesh as his skin bares the names of those who have taunted his death. Seventy Nine names have infected his skin through a simple tattoo gun. They have not sunk their teeth into his flesh out of pure compassion. Seventy Nine is the number of so called human beings that have acted as if they were a infected needle and pricked their way into his life. A needle prick is a small action that can change everything when it is infected. But how long does it take to slice a vein with a infected needle and how deep will that infection have a chance to run before it seeps into his brain?
Or does that infection do no negitive harm to your body in a sense. Does that infection actually turn around and help you in ways your disignagrating skull could never grasp it’s shaking fingers around. Could the infection’s fingers brush the hair of the name’s sinking into his skin and seduce them into handing over their free will like the ease of spit clinging onto concreate?
© Copyright 2016 Kat Bailey. All rights reserved.
Short Story / Literary Fiction
Essay / Poetry
Short Story / Other
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