Scars

What do you do when your friends are gone? When their ghosts come every night? When you wake up and take a hit because it's better to be stoned where you can pretend they don't haunt you. You speak to them anyway of course. You sit in a corner, curled into a ball. Shaking,crying, screaming into the air. Then you grab your vest, fire up your panhead, and ride at 100 miles per hour on the wrong side of I-10 praying for a motorist that's not paying attention to smear you across the pavement. Then you find your brothers at the bar. A redhead giving them disgusted glances, until she sees you walk in. She sees the hurt in your eyes, and you see the warmth in hers. She doesn't turn her back at the tattoos, or swastika over your breast. Instead she takes your hand, and leads you into the sunshine. You invite her to a run, find out under her bell bottom jeans are scars colored in with ink. She tells you her story, and you find out that one of the locals abused her. A relationship that soured the sweetest person you've ever met. The sawed-off on my bike found it's way into my hand, then her hand found mine. Her scars could begin to heal after tonight

Done