We Don't Sell Crazy Here

“We don’t sell crazy here,”
he says as he cums on my leg
Drifting into his high he throws one hairy calf over mine
His face settles serenely and in that moment he is as beautiful as a child
With loathing and self disgust I roll him off and stumble towards the bathroom
Shutting the door behind me I catch a glimpse of my reflection in the mirror
In the rainbow of colors my face has become I see he has broken my nose again
His hand print is still vivid on my neck as my lip trickles a trail of blood down my shirt and onto the floor
With my big toe I fumble the syringe still laying on the tile near the toilet
I wonder where I have gone
Even the tears don’t come easy these days
For now the monster is sleeping but he will be back in time for his next fix
on that I can count
You see we do sell crazy here and we are always open for business
10/13/01

We Don't Sell Crazy Here

Crystal French

Port Angeles, United States

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sex drugs

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  • Mark Ramstead
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