Proper Whores

she reasons with the drug. slopes in the darkness. trembling doorways.

it's everything. it's always been that. it's the whole world. in the sneeze of a butterfly. it's time. hydrogen atoms defying gravity. triangles doling out their limited degrees. it's the science of how. whispering loudly in a universe of ifs.

concrete fingers try to bend. to grasp. but only break. they keep what they've always had. but fail to gain anything new.

closed eyes save their sight. against the blinding of the eclipse. but miss the epiphany of overwhelming darkness. they're all just stories anyway. vibrating flesh caught in an emotional sieve.

there are no wars. there is no army. just people. trying on bits of weather and hunks of distance. there's just the void. talking to itself. in broken crayons and burnt matches.

there aren't names. we forfeit such privileges. there aren't friends. we have other definitions for those occasions.