He broke into my house, stole the portrait off the mantelpiece
He signed his name at the bottom of every page in my diary,
And he slept in my bed.

He left the back gate open and emptied all the picture frames
Now they are just as blank as the faces they once held.

I left him a letter on the kitchen table,
Where we sat together in silence
Where we fed the fire burning all around us
But still, we sat there,
Untouched.

I grew my hair out to hide my eyes,
The only place the darkness could be seen
It lives inside me.

Now we live inside the burnt-down ruins
Of a house that once stood so tall,
A house that knew our names
A house that was once a home.