we stained ourselves camouflage,

cutting out paper hearts so that
we wouldn't have to give away our own,

hiding behind fog and
silver street lamps,
(smoking to perfection)

with armor smelling of dreams
& decay,

lonely hearts smothered in
empty kisses and
casual(ly lustful) contact,

and all you can do is mutter to me
that when corruption is a myth,
and love- an uncensored nightmare

this is poetry.