There is little I wouldn't do.
For

falling asleep
with your scent as my blanket
your chest my pillow
and your breathing my lullaby

Yes.
There is little I wouldn't do.

there was an old building
wooden and decrepit
filled with secrets that the children
traded in.

now it's smoothed over.
casted concrete or something similar.
it's the ghost of a house that's gone.
it's eerie how it's inviting.
It's eerie how it's inviting.
but now it's missing.

"can we pretend that this never happened? can we pretend that the photo's on my phone, the pictures on the wall, the poems in my book the endless number of calls, the days out, the days in, the days somewhere inbetween, the nights, the lessons taught, the stories told and retold, till we both know them better than the back of our hands that touched when we didn't want them too, but i did, i did, i did."

tear it out cleanly.
it can heal i can deal with the scars i'm not afraid anymore
but i can't sustain this.
do not resuscitate me.