April 7th, 2004

Mask

Tattoo

“I don’t like being human.” Her arms collapsed onto the bar, and tiny ants skittered to hide between her skin and the table. I gave her a sharp look.

“What? Why not?” She shook her hands at me, and old porn stars fucked on her fingertips.

“No, wait, don’t get me wrong. I like being me. I like myself, but being human? It seems, filthy somehow.” She rubbed her shoulders, and yellow and orange sunsets bloomed under her hands, softly fading towards a deep purple night on her chest. I shrugged.

“I don’t think it is.”

“I like myself better this way, with my designs and alterations. I like having components that are not me, but of my choosing.” She played with the tiny beads nestled in her dread-locked hair. “I wish I trusted myself more.” The dancer sighed, and Japanese waves rippled up her arms and splashed on her throat.