you are the aftermath of what happens when we stop holding our breath, stop boxing things up and start to let them breathe. I am the aftermath of everything I keep in my bed at night, but I'm learning that I can crush bones as easily as being crushed. I am the shards of sharp things we all tiptoe around to avoid, I am the softness that settles in your bones when you decide to stop running away. Add up the cost of sleepless nights and kissing pavements, toss the body counts aside. I think you've seen enough cold fingers for this life.
Make your home in me, let the dust settle gently over the contours of these walls; it may be a little bleak at times, but when you come home here you won't have to leave any piece of you at the door, you won't have to tread lightly or keep your voice soft.
I'm taking it all in with fresh bursts of inspiration, drawing you like the only way out, and I hope as you're waking up and fitting your hands around new promises, you'll leave a blank space for me to write my name into, I'll be marking my skin with things we say and do, I'll be cleaning out my closet to put your skeletons into.