Houses are built to be homes, so consider my clavicle your door frame.
These arms are slowly hardening to brick.
You see, dry wall has the tendency to give in to the weight of your knuckles and the press of your skin so the arms that so eagerly work to surround you in safety needed renovation.
One day you decided my rib cage staircase squeaked too much and the rooms you've filled where too small.
I could have Renovated, but you Doused me in gasoline and started a fire searching for flames of answer.
I hope my blanket of ashes brings you the warmth you needed.