oblivion is a place that i've always wanted to know,
since it sounded like peace to someone like me who's never
quite convinced it to stay long enough to have anything more
than a slight impression on my pillow and
perfume stained sheets.
even so, i'm still sorry for existing
as an unfortunate vortex of bad ideas, apologies,
and impulsive behavior--
i liken myself to fragmented floorboards or
drifting rooftops, a tornado of good intent,
but you can't  build something steady when your vision is red
and your state of mind is blurry--
god, i'm trying not to let myself be
the cause of civilian casualty.
painted pieces of "could've beens" and "what if's" separated only by the winds caused by a torrent of ****** punching fists--
there are holes in the wall that are shaped just as much by
my ex lovers as they are by my own hands.
i'm sorry i'm not more stable since i never quite
mastered the art of construction,
i'm sorry i am less four walls and more
collapsed doorway,
i'm sorry i was a synonym for broken
and she was more of a safe place than i could ever be.
that's all i ever wanted to be for you, you know,
a safe place
even when my eyes spell out danger
and i try not to embody the word "home-wrecker"
as much, even when
cracks form around my skull
every time i realize that you never were the type
to buy a house in tornado country--
i never considered myself deserving of the word "home"
but for once, i wish i was.