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Bodies

You move through crowds like scenery, smile where the gesture lands. Laughter falls and disappears before it understands. Your eyes keep drifting sideways — not searching, just delayed. You wait for something to respond. Nothing fucking stays. The quiet isn’t empty now, it’s evenly assigned. A shared condition no one names, a silence synchronized. Everyone’s screaming underground, soundproofed by design, walls built out of other people, brick by fucking brick in time. Bodies align, then hesitate. Something almost breathes. Hearts strike bone and pull away, too intact to bleed. Whatever should have crossed the gap collapses back within, like moths that break themselves apart on ribs they can’t get in. Images stand in for fullness, light staged to look complete. You know the vacancy is real because it’s accurate. Every perfect frozen moment feels embalmed, not sweet — even joy looks like a still from a film about defeat. No rupture. No origin. No villain left to blame. Just one unbroken point of view sealed in a single frame. You can fuck, confess, or kneel in prayer, trade skin, trade names — still just two sealed systems pretending friction is exchange. Bodies align again and fade. Nothing carries through. The system hums, persists, repeats without confirming you. And you remain — not because it works, not because it’s true, but because the motion doesn’t stop and stopping would be too…