Can’t See the Closet for the Skeletons

The blue screen illuminates the room
Its pulsing beams condensate on filthy paper walls
My defeated hands quake
On thin sheets in summer’s crushing heat
A deep love digresses to a heavier season
Our marrows melt, mix, and mend

With your ear to the floor, I can see how poor
The state of the tiles, chipped, stained, and uneven

Two lovers wound together with strings
Sever old, and tie anew
A delicate mess we cherish
It was you who hung us out
Examples beneath the olive
It was you who pronounced us dead

Guilt is a poison, it weakens our will
We cut, we bleed, we scab, we heal
And pray we don’t cut again