Oil and water.

The man and the girl sit at the countertop

borne with joy so fabricated, so fleeting

That it flies away almost as fast as the butterflies

The girl draws on the walls of her bedroom.

Flies away so fast as the dreams 

the man chased when he was young

The girl sips her Kool-aid, mouth stained blue

As the man, his scotch, soul stained red.

They both know better than that;

Wine and blood don’t mix.

The man and the girl at the bar

are bound to this place,

this foolish haze, this ruined haven.

They cannot leave; they know they must rot,

their bones the soil where flowers bloom,

Till their last breaths turn cold

because the dead understand

what the living cannot.

Look at them, you say, oil and water.

Even he who floats can drown.