Damn It Jim

It was over anyway. I wasn't about to be born again. Flimsy skin stretching to resolve absent protracted catalysts.

We had our wars. Over nothing in particular. Fragrant gods in the perfume of men. Profound with hatred. Her breasts like old wallpaper. Waiting to be stripped. Her shoes greedy with mud. As the gravel took her closer.

We worshipped. We drew. On long arms. Eager needles. Apt to puncture. We measured her carefully. In centimeters of touch.

We opened the portal. As if it was ours to judge. We opened the portal. And it swallowed us.

That other world didn't remember at all. The mannequins. In its windows. All the hungry wolves. That went into the fairy tale.

Are still starving.