sterile
the iodine stains our skin red
as we craft lie after lie
trying to scrub these walls white
and our love is a dungeon
(beautiful and dreary)
you whisper to me
in the tragedies that follow us through life
we keep painting new pictures
to create new paths
but picasso didn’t have to tell us
that guernica was an ugly battle
for our hearts to ache
at the laughter
surrounding the bodies,
so frail
so frail.