The Lost Ones

Flesh stretches, teeth clench, fingers curl.

“Hello, are you there?”

*Knock, knock*

“Don’t come in.”

Nobody’s home. Go away.

Smoke wafts, but has no origin.

Voices are heard, but bodies are not found.

I am no more alive than you are.

How can I feel your fingers crawl upon my skin when you are as dead as me?

Movement?

Our bodies writhe, and yet, there is no motion.

Is it emotion?

No.

Gravity holds us down.

Compressed.

Unimpressed.

We lie.

We Lie.

Is this fear or love?

Fear of love?

Love of fear.

Succumb.

We play dumb as we act as adults.

We are no more adult than our result.

Outcome. Which is what? Nothing.

We are simply mutts acting as if we are purebred.

High with excellence. Well-deserved in their case.

In ours?

Inexcusable.

Our bodies, invisible to each other, yet still fusible.

We are unusable after this moment.

Marred.

At least one of us is. The one survives with the other invisibles.

One leaves the universe considered perverse by others—vanishes.

Akin to the state of person that was lost between the two.

One on top, one on bottom.