Welcome to Needles Anonymous,
This is a safe space for
The inkers
The cutters
The piercers.
The users
We all know pain,
So we poke and we maime.
Carve or stick,
Plunge or prick,
We are all addicts.
My sister has a shitty star tattooed on the inside of her elbow.
A shotgun road trip
A midnight trip to Walmart
A winding country path
The earthy smell of forty year-old wood.
And a sorority sans college campus.
We laugh after the doctors
Pat her on the shoulder.
"Good for you"
"You won this battle"
Apparently,
A poorly-placed stick and poke
Sets the stage for your heroin heroine.
But the only needle to ever pierce her skin
Was coated in cheap India ink.
Up and down, up and down
As if sewing ebony threads
Into ivory fabric.
Until embroidery and cross stitch
Provide her next fix.
I have three parallel lines on my foot.
An empty house in September
A needle in a bathroom
A cold porcelain tub against a warm, arched back
A quiet so deep you could hear shallow breath
And a sad, sullen face sans any sign of saline
My jaw a swaying swing from a tree
No furrow of brow.
No lines carved in face,
Just lines carved in faith
In a God void of faith in me
Apparently,
There's nothing so fervent and full of power,
So moving as to move me to tears
This needle I wield pierces my skin,
Is coated in free crimson ink.
Back and forth, Back and forth.
Harmonious and harmful
As a metronome swaying and pounding against the walls of my skull
Until the beat has broken me
And the rhythm has me hooked.
My friend has an ornate piercing through her septum.
A flash of dark walls and whirring machines.
A gloved hand and hollow needle.
A sharp sting and a sterling silver ring.
A bull in a tattoo shop trying not to see red.
And a sweet, swelling agony sans the sweetest duration.
She smiles in the mirror,
Flicks it but twice,
Not recognizing that
Fragile girl he used that night.
Apparently,
It's easy to change yourself so drastically
That even you can't see the pain that lies within.
The needle that pierces her skin
Sends an electric white chill through her body.
In and out, it went in and out
A surging bullet through cartilage.
The first of many gunshots to come
To wash away who she once was.
I read about a boy who used to shoot smack.
A rubber strip tugged in clenched teeth
A mind full of ravenous torments, that he begs to stop.
A perforated vein, intruded upon again.
A vial of bliss and plunger pushed in
And a euphoric laugh, fatal sigh sans breath.
He didn't get a shitty star tattoo.
Or his septum laced with silver.
Instead, he got little red freckles adorning his body
And a black bag of plastic to go with.
Apparently,
Needles can lie.
They can tempt you with peace and kiss you with relief
But still cost you everything.
The needle pierced his skin.
Painting his arm with cascading black lightning.
Thrust in and right back out,
As swift as a gentle breeze and a lullaby,
Humming to the tune of sirens and sobs
Carrying him into sleep sans dream,
His final fix, the most profound of the lot.
So, welcome to Needles Anonymous.
We all know pain,
We all have maimed
We know the name of the game.
That's why
We honor our fallen sisters and brothers
Why we pay our respects.
To see that we don't lose another,
This is the first of our twelve steps
