such a silly scheme
selling souls slinged as something raw
when the salt in the wound is actually sugar

she is sure that he is sugar-coating it
because she herself is coated the same
the lame game of wrapping ourselves in cellophane
saying pain will go away if it is wrapped in a way
so that we can touch without having to feel
have a sense without using the senses
for the skin turns blue when the cellophane
cuts off circulation
and our bodies become slaves to the game
of being blue

a society in shackles sewn from sugary cellophane
the cellophane stretches as our lungs do
to scream "I love yous"
but we have condemned ourselves to a life in winter
and love cannot survive in the cold.

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