She has intelligent eyes and cold hands and she feels dead. She may as well be a corpse she tells herself, may as well dig herself a grave and rot with all the other dead bodies. All the other chain-smoking-in-the-back-seat-of-her-mothers-car-corpses, tried-to-disappear-but-just-got-lost-dead things. She kisses boys with alcohol tainted lips, and wide, wild,  benzodiazepine eyes, and invites the reckless to come and grab her and doesnt flinch when it does. Shes not scared of a damn thing at this point because liquor is always best served on ice and she feels better served on the cold metal slab of the hospital morgue. Flutter-heartbeat and flutter-eyelashes and tripping over her own feet she trembles, shes afraid of saying the wrong thing because then she might have to explain how she really feels, the truth is she feels so useless unless shes high on something and she knows she self destructing but at least she cant feel herself fall apart. She meets a boy with bright eyes and a sunshine smile and she still feels numb, still feels like she has nothing to say but she has him to fill the silence with twice the amount of talking, she lets him talk to their friends and fill the gaps in the conversation where she knows her friends are waiting for her soft voice to speak. Watching him laugh, she smiles. And suddenly the sky is full of stars again, wonders if the night sky will always be this pretty outside of her run down, bug ridden, grave. She wonders if he put the stars there for her but knows she will never ask, she just kisses them goodnight, one-by-one, and rubs her corpse-moon, sun-tanned hands together.