He made it seem like getting high every night meant entering the next level of adulthood. Constantly afraid and paranoid, but learning to ignore that pain for the mind expansion.
Sacrifice or something like that
Drugs taught me sacrifice
And I took it, either paralyzed or in perpetual motion over some place my mind took me. He ate my fear. I never met anyone who liked the taste of raw unprocessed fear so much. Give it to me.
You want uncensored a century ahead of its time?
You want us to accidentally notice the thousands little scars I see from where you cut yourself with your last flame – she gave you a thousand little scars, they brand her story on you skin in a way that a tattoo could never.
Go away.
The stalkers will never know.
The writers will never know.
and I’ll assume everyone I meet from now on is as closed off as I am because they know.
I’ll see dating profiles say “I’m looking for something safe” and resent them for thinking they can plan that far ahead.
Anthropological Magical Realism 