He made it over the red brick wall, and I swear it was high, I thought it was high enough.
He wormed his way in, through the gates, through the bars.
He brought a hammer, smashed the glass.
Brought fire, bended the frames of the windows, got inside.
He brought gasoline, doused the house, doused every inch and every crevice of that home.
He dug a trench, dug it deep and wide around that house.

He had brought a bomb, lied and said it was his heart.
He left with a wire, trailing after and I thought I was safe, I trusted him.
He had brought a bomb, left it in my house, promised the smell of gasoline was a leak, and it would be fixed.
He said the damp covers and crevices were rain, since the windows were smashed.
He said the windows were destroyed because of a burglar, and he was trying to keep me safe.

He detonated the bomb, left me to burn, left me to rot with this obliterated home.

This house wasn't a home.

This house was my heart.