I wouldn't call myself quirky

but there is definitely something
wrong with me

My love was as cruel as the cities I lived in

Everyone looked worse in the light

Grief is cold fingertips tapping on my window at night
keeping me
                awake
keeping me
                           aware

I stare into the
mirror at a body
that'll never be
home

I carry around the
body of someone
that should have
died

I began to realize that even though the violence was over,
I still carried it with me

I still woke up to claw marks outside my bedroom door

I still hold the anger in my stomach as I write letters to myself

begging me to
                         come
                            home

This ache is a constant reminder and the silence is louder than you think