Epilogue
We might be monsters. Stumbling around inside the skins of people. Unsure where the person ends and the monster begins.
We might be thieves. Always wanting the things that don’t belong to us. Creatures of desire at the mercy of our temptations.
We might draw our maps in broken skin. Letting the blood lead us.
Still we convince the corners. To let us run.
Purchasing our future with scavenged coins. Measuring our progress in withering scars.
We’ve always been lost. Holding fast to the string. As time tries to escape our grasp.
Eventually, it wins.
Orphans in a universe too vast to reconcile. Primitives searching for absent gods. As the truth overwhelms.
This we know. It’s why we’re always searching for where the blood is soft. All the crevices where the flesh is still tender.
We might be victims of our own evolution. Sinking all too quickly into the swamp that is change. Touching the mud with trembling fingers. Gazing at the rain with tired eyes. Animals drowning inside the flesh of gods.
Wandering catastrophes of our own creation. Picking the claws out of our dresses. as we continue to dance to the music that's no longer playing.
Telling each other in the earnest lies that forgive us. Tracing the end of the world through the smallest scraps of paper.
If we are monsters, we needn’t worry.
The world is full of us.
I’ve pressed every button. I’ve worn every scab. I’ve told every lie.
If time is all we have. We have everything. And nothing.
If the distance is all we are.
We've gone too far.
She pets the cat. Now dead.
She exits the machine. Leaving the motor running. We might be monsters. It's almost certain. Time can't listen. It can only hear. Distance doesn't measure. It only wants. All that matters is, what kind of monsters we are.