Sweet Calamity

Step forward here,
this mud and mire
is no thicker nor faster
in its sinking
than the current ground
you stand on.
The errors committed
in this space
no worse nor better
than any of your crimes,
only a different color,
and perhaps a more subtle hue.
"I feel like the color blue,"
she said once,
and it made me turn the color black,
my tongue swell.
Surely your throat was constricting
in purple and reds.
Sweet calamity.
Cold war.
I don't want to fall down
into this mess.
Come stand with me here.
Our landscapes are
both littered with bones and hearts
but sharing the blasted sight
is some relief.