there are three blood stains on our sheets
in the shape of various european countries
and there is a dying white rose you bought me
last tuesday when i called in sick

it sits on the dresser, strangled by baby's breath
a single window, broken blinds
shoes tripped over every morning

when you stumble out of bed to go to class
and i stay and bask in the glow of your empty space in the mattress
wood floor scratched by broken glass
tubes of lipstick half-melted in august sun

the tv where we turned on carrie on a sticky summer night
and lay on top of the sheets
and couldn't remember how it ended

this is the room where i fell in love with you