Another story about sex and drugs that ends in sleep

Brown. Black. Yellow. Red. The color of dried hay. The color of flowing magma just released from the ground. The color of footprints in wet clay. The color of snow after it's been salted. There are so many possible colors hair can be, so why do they both have to be bald? Why do they both have to be bald and white?

I'm too high for this threesome.

I look down and see two bald heads sucking my tits. There are so many possible hairstyles...

beehives, mohawks, crewcuts, pixes, bowl cuts, cowlicks, widow's peaks, bouffants, mullets, chelseas, curly, straight, buns, bobs, afros, dreadlocks, cornrows, pompadours...

So why do they both have to be bald? Why do they both have to be bald, and white, and doing the same thing?

They are the same. They're insects. They're clones. They're twin babies trying to suck the life out of me.

And now one of them is inside. His hand. He's going too hard, with two many fingers. If I could find a thumb I could figure out which hand it is. Or if he bent one of them maybe. I try to go inside my head. No walls, no flashing lights, no greens and pinks and swirling yellows silhouetting us on the walls. No heads, just hands. I try to focus and everything goes red, I can feel the blood welling up around my temples and...

Nothing. Black. The color of the inside of a shirt as it's pulled over your head.

My eyes open. Ceiling. There's no hand inside me, no one sucking my tits. Just two bald heads. Clones. Beige, hairless clones, running around the room like birds. Two damp insects digging through pants pockets. Two panicked infants dialing cell phones. I wipe the drool off of my chin and try to pick up my head. Too heavy, easier to just sleep.

Hello, 911? We need help--

[Currently listening to "Live It Out" by Metric]