A Preponderance of Evidence

no names by which to call them. in the infinite conflagration of time.
all told. the damage is the least of our devastation.

the numbers frantically fumble to keep count. as the fissures continuously erupt in our math.
bits of skin in all the wrong places. tease the lingering intersections.

no familiar faces to wear their skeletons. as choice chokes on the last of its wagers.
the simplest truths answer the hardest questions.

the luxury of touch is an impossible expense. now that all our words have expired. 
silence drives its wedges under our tongues. 

no soiled sheets upon which to cultivate our shame. all severed limbs discarded. 
all broken dolls tucked into their beds. 

the apothecary of deceit a familiar stranger. as time betrays the remains of our metaphors. 

no more temporary villains in generous couches. some monsters are permanent.