Waters black; time
Leads to chaos.

Fallen soldiers and their
Rotten
Bullet wounds weep.

Salt cauterizes gouges in
The pretty skin of paper
Dolls trying desperately
To be strong.

Impossible dreams of returning
Scars
And keeping the glow.

Forgotten
The dye seeped through
The palms of everyone
Who touches me.

Nightmares drown
(The happiness)?

And fear is unfinished.

"plan a" was to be cordial:
you said, "coexist."
we toasted with our cappuccinos,
"to coexisting," before replacing our masks.
smile. wave. be polite.
I suppose some dozen missteps by me rendered this plan
useless.

"plan b" is much harder.
put your hand on the table.
the knife comes down, quick,
press the hot metal to the wound.

amputate. cauterize.
use your friends as a tourniquet,
like the one I've been twisting you into for the last year
and a half.