"are you awake?"
she whispered
to my almost lifeless corpse
as if it were a question
as if for all the world
I could sleep
over the sound of her quickly beating heart
"awake"
I replied

"good"
she mumbled
with the quiet satisfaction of a cat
as if it were her own small triumph
that against the sound of her rising breath
and the falling of mine
sleep couldn't be bothered to fight
"what's the matter?"
I replied

"what if the drugs aren't the problem"
she said
too loudly for my grated senses
but too softly for me to understand
for if drugs were not the reason
for the emptiness in our eyes
and the gaps visible between skin and bone
the holes in our clothes and our social skills
then what in gods name was
"what do you mean"
I replied

"what if the sober are lost on the inside
as we are lost without"
she said with a raspy voice
as if she was proving a point
I thought of my mother and all of her friends
their small sober minds
their existential questions
we did not ask where we came from
or where we go when we die
because we know
we've seen it
was this quiet drug addict
lying across my chest
with her soul in her hands
she was
"I think you're right"
I replied

"I think so"
she said
with a quick coy smile
as she lit up two cigarettes
and handed me one
justifying ourselves and our ways
that's all that we do anymore
its how we get by
its how we can steal cheat and lie
without a morsel of remorse
stuck in our yellowing teeth
"oh god this is how we die"
I replied