Carefully flattening out the pages, I tried to decipher the writing in the margins. "Cedar Street, under tree." Cedar? Martha used to live there but had moved out-of-state when we were teenagers. 

     I didn't recognize the handwriting and no one had touched this book in years, its layer of dust having caught my eye when I riffled through the bookcase earlier.

     Dread constricted my ribs, making my heart thud painfully. I was never one for mysteries. Maybe someone buried money in Martha's backyard! Or there could be a doomsday bunker. What if they're directions to some murderer's victims?

With a rat-a-tattoo

You marked me dead

That Colt 45

Pointed straight

At my head

There's a gun

In the roses

And rings in our noses

If anyone asks

Yeah, we're pretty bad-ass

I'm throwing a party

At the gates of hell

If you dare join us-

"Don't ask. Don't tell."

-DeRicki

(Tattoo art by Crash Vonmason - @crashmason on Instagram)

Pen in hand, she is ready for the fierce and bloody battle;

Restricted by nothing other than her own tangled mind.

Obeying her conscience and all she knew and needed to hear,

She thrusts burden and sorrow onto the cold and dusty floor. 

Ending the struggle, as the pen's ink weeps on the page. 

I will catch your soul in a blue bottle

Wrap it in leather and wool

Bathe myself in your coy fox smile

Feather boa and ruby fur

You have on your black bow tie

Your satin white cuffed shirt

I skip by your shadow in diamonds

Landing swift as you lift up my skirt

Brush my silken neck across your cheek

As you fiddle with your decree

Laugh violently when the stars rain down

As your hand travels up my knee