Hands

She doesn't like being alone she can out drink most of the frat boys and most nights she goes into battle flask in her right hand and scars on her left

She raises both her weapons into the air and lets them fall knowing full well she can win this battle if the bottle smacks her lips before her skin does

On those nights she falls asleep without remembering what she was fighting for and the next morning she can feel her battle wounds pounding in her head like war drums she thinks, it must have been a good fight The other nights she can't sleep so she blasts music into her ears praying to God, please silence the chorus inside of me the volume knob, the lever she uses to elevate her prayers she turns it all the way up this time, so maybe he'll listen But, he never does so she turns it back down, and all the way off she walks outside and turns off the sunshine... she turns off the streetlights... She sees the stars for the first time in a long time and closing her eyes she sees them again on the back of her eyelids, she wonders how long has she had solar systems inside of her body Ears ringing, though they may be she sits in the moonlight and finally listens to the chorus in her ribcage they call to her... "you have beautiful hands."