A true life story....

!! Fight !!

By chance, catching my reflection in the full length mirror of the new spot's bathroom, I freeze. Half in and half out of the glass shower I stare in mid swipe of the thick dark purple towel. Eyes glued not to the too lean muscle or gleaming golden skin that reflects the half chicano heritage. Or the thick black hand drawn tribal tats that decorate over half my shoulder blade and arm. No, what attracts my eyes to a mouth dry lock is the carved snake eating its tail tattoo that rides low on my hip and thigh. Just about my large palm's size done with precise cuts and burned hatching. 


Eternal rebirth, is the symbol. 


Still it is not the artful macabre design or the toker's weed leafed middle I draw in everyday with permanent marker and usually surrounding smoke that will eventually help cover. More its the never ending cycle of seeing the true reason it is there. Like a knife to the gut it rips me apart and stills my feet and dry's my mouth. Seeing not the now beautiful design done over measured and sneaked time against regulations and orders. Instead I see the brutally carved Malay script done with a field knife. Pretty fuck toy, whore boy.


The shakes and shivers run from my stiff neck to a curl in my toes that makes goose bumps pop and my head scream as mentally I relive the torture from a few years back. Bogusly jailed, stripped and taunted for intel a handful of us went through hell and back. Being the youngest and, as they stated, pretty boy my torture was the hardest and most sadistic. Carving me up for the population to read clearly if I made it to that point. Fighting kept my ass and mouth from being fucked, but it brought the carving and the beating that nearly killed my ass. 


Hands fisting in the towel as I stare in fixated looped horror I relive those days, then after as my rabbity ass contemplated completing my foiled attempts yrs previous to end the fucking nightmare that is my brain and soul... till, as I was watched tighter than a drum, I instead covered the lasting marks that refused to heal with the snake. Giving life to erasing at least one of the many well carved and ingrained scars that ride me every muthafucking day in a nightmare cycle. 


My first constructive step in rising from the ash of my hell and into the ring, where I fight and eradicate all the shattered and broken things within. It is a fight, and its on going... I erased the scars but that is just the outside. I still see them in my head... like this afternoon when I stepped from my shower. I still taste the blood and fucking cigarette smoke, smell the sweat from the heat on their skin, and hear my screams echoing stone walls... but really, that is just one among many seriously fucked up things rattling my brain pan. On many levels not the worst. 


There is always a worse, its around the fucking corner, what gives the diff is are you going to just lay there and fuck yourself off and give up or are you going to fight? For a long time I wanted to give the fuck up, why not? Everyone all through my life either tried to take me out or have me taken out and didn't give a fuck about me. Then I came across a few good people... and as I piece my Frankenstein ass back together I am starting to get what they see in me... even though I think half the time they are half baked or fucking got rose fucking glasses welded to their skulls. 


Point is, FIGHT. Few yrs and major fucking bullshit later I am damn fucking glad I'm around... even if my brain doesn't always agree or I go through days on end of rabbity fucking shit screaming off in my head. 




RAT