I watch her eyes drip tears. 'How many drugs did they have you fucked up on, baby?' I whisper to myself as she's torn apart and penetrated. 'What did they pump you full of to create that glaze?' These girls perform but they have no idea of how they move, where they are, what they're feeling. Tears are dripping down their cheeks but they don't feel them. Pornographic images meant to arouse flash before me, but the only feeling they cause is sympathy, empathy. I've been that whore spread out before you with an empty mind, incapable of thought. Nothing connects and the cells have stopped communicating. Why did they put you in a coma little girl, was it all so they could fuck you? How many lines have you blown since to erase that day? Why do your eyes look like the ocean; hollow and dark with no bottom in sight? Did they drown you with alcohol and strip you naked? Fuck you raw and forget your name? Look at me, baby. Baby, look at me. Tell me with your eyes what was in the needles that pricked you. That cock in your mouth won't fill the void in your chest. You know, the one that is just inside of your ribcage, beating, methodically.