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Flesh
The silver needle pierces your clean flesh
Now it burns, a steamy fire of pain
A high unlike anything but cocaine
Sit, you’re useless
The man’s grip is too loose
Chains keep the would-be flailing arms in place
To your sides they stay in pain
Spin, try to shake away from the skin’s noose
Finally the trip is over and done
Sitting at the dinner table the next morning
Dad spots your waist and talks about his gun
please don’t you cry, but to him you’re already dead
The tattoo is a simple tree, which dad had burned
Off the skin, a sort of forest fire indeed

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