baby, it is two in the morning
and i have seen every hour
since the beginning of the week.

i no longer sleep,
because there’s nothing left
for me to retain
except for the memories
that ruin me like ghosts
and i am now the building
they haunt.

i am no longer a home,
because home is where the heart is
and mine is where i left it,

in your hands,
broken and fallen apart,
in the spines of books
and the spaces of my letters,
in everything

just so that it isn’t in me anymore.

i can no longer bear it, really.

it is two in the morning,
and the ghosts are stirring
from the shadows of my walls.

i do not miss you at all.

i think.