she ached in her bed. her body empty felt waiting for a hand to fill it and make it live again.
we don’t count the words we say as the world comes to a stop. all the quivering needles slithering under our skin that shout our name. expecting us to answer when it’s the last thing we want to do.
the distance only grows.
all permanent creases and stale breadcrumbs.
we wander. soldiers in an army of one. chewing on the plastic bullets. putting bandages on the dead.
wearing each other in ragged costumes.
suffocating inside shrinking masks.