a house is not a home
a house is not a home
a house is not a home
a house is not a home until you paint the walls with your insides
a house is where you can count 63 creaks of the bed in the room to your left on a night you cannot get out of your own head
a home is where your skin mixes with the person below you until you cannot pull yourself apart without ripping yourself to shreds
and you probably definitely love him, you tell yourself, and you count 47 creaks of your bed
where is your head?
he breathes into your neck
and you look at his walls, painted with his insides, this is his home
where is your home?
you are vagabond, choosing to take bits of everyone else you have glued yourself to in order to keep yourself whole
you use their late night whispers to build a temporary home
but keep yourself far enough that you can sneak out the back door without the walls collapsing in on you
(that happens after you are gone)
does it hurt?
your wallpaper is made up of other people's insides
where did yours go?

there is a boy in a big jacket inhaling and exhaling smoke as if it is easier to breathe than air
i want to throw up at the smell, the taste in my nose holds the fatigue of chemotherapy and malignant cells and "it got bad so fast"
i used to think cigarettes were romantic and poetic
the only person i ever saw with nicotine lodged between their teeth had alcohol coursing through his veins that was not his
and i loved him so i loved that little pack of cigarettes he kept in his back pocket
i want to throw up at the smell, the taste in my nose

there is soil underneath my fingertips
from ripping up flowerbeds
because when i dyed my hair red
the color of roses tainted with metallic blood
for you
you told me that it looked prettier
in her garden
the color of my eyes
is sandy, ***** like my name on your lips
but her eyes look just like the ocean
that i am desperate to reach every time the tide is high
you make yourself known with shaking hands
and unstable heartbeats
and the floorboards howl with every step you take
and yet
every time you feel i am getting too close
you remind me you are
*just visiting

you have cuts all over your hands
from stealing paper moons
to give to him
and the tears are like salt in your wounds
because you said he was like a fire
and every moon you gave him he burnt to the ground
and no, it wasn't his fault, he can't help the way he lights you up
and leaves a trail of ashes behind him
and no not tonight not tonight not tonight
repeated like a mantra in your head
because every time the sun went down
there was a monster in your bed
he crawled up from your nightmares,
your father thought he had put him to rest
his words grip you tight like a rope
an anchor that held you at the bottom of the sea
but his words tasted so sweet
you thought he was keeping you afloat

your hair was brown when i met you
and it was just long enough to spill over your shoulder
like hot coffee on a Monday morning.
he broke up with you in October
and you showed up 3 days later
with the split ends that always tickled my arm chopped off
and dyed an angry, passive-aggressive red
like some kind of statement, a confessional
because in 10th grade
ditching you at the movies
feels like he's just left you at the altar
and you started holding my hand
and losing sleep
over him
while i started falling in love
with you
*
365 days later
we aren't talking anymore
and i feel like i'm being suffocated
but then you text me at 11 pm
and i say, "we haven't spoken in months"
and you say, "he broke up with me"
and just like that
every shade of your hair
and the way it used to catch in the sunlight
fills up the gaps between my fingers
where yours used to be.
and when i see you the next day
your hair is shorter than it was in the summer
and it's dyed an official, goodbye black

they say not to set yourself on fire
to keep someone warm
but i am aware
that my bones are ablaze
my blood is boiling
and i can't feel the flames licking at my skin
i am spreading myself thin
engulfing myself in flames
that turn into a wildfire
i am dissolving in front of their eyes
but they are too busy
enjoying my warmth to notice
that i am crumbling into
hollow bones and cracked skin
a fragile frame that can turn into smoking ashes
at the slightest touch
so stay far enough way
to still feel my warmth
to keep yourself sane
but don't get closer
because i cannot risk
the burn