there is still blood
caked in the crevices between his fingers
when he stumbles back to the light
you turn on the water
(it'll burn his skin red but at least they'll be clean)
and you hold his hand
as you wash it away

same as the night last
its just part of the deal

he doesn’t look at you
but at something just to the left
at a water-color of the screams he cradled
before he snapped them
like wishbones

pretty eyes aren’t going to help someone who won't look at you