His hand across her face with a sharp crack
Pale, bleeding and resigned.
He kicks her in the ribs and she cries outThe mental anguish far worse that the bruises
The desperation of an addict using
Against her will
Dope sick without it, dying with it
Foxhole prayers and gas station rendezvousDiesel fuel and body fluids
Shame and degradation
He is a wooly mammoth lying on top of her
The desire to lay her head on the pillow of hair on his chestInstead she feels thick, doughy fingers pawing at her
There is no mistaken this for love
A service provided for payment of some sort
One more fix.
Chase the high, immortalityFeelings of power and inferiority
Emaciated, dirty needles, blistered lips
The smell of peppermint
Her hair sticks up like little yellow maggots
Continual fear and constant tearsLife in the alley
Smells like the dumpster
Behind Mr. Jessup’s Butcher Shop
On a sunny, July afternoon
Desperation pulses like sexual energy in the air
The halo of gnats dance around her headThe sound of feral children close by
The smell of dust, wet cardboard
The crinkle of cellophane and terse, barked orders
The warehouse workers unaware
Slow death beyond their walls
The thick fence between the church and the alley
Covered in grime and moss
Won't one person reach out and save her?
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