The clothes I wear don’t feel like home even on good days
and most days they end up at the bottom of my bed
in a pile I avoid putting away,
There is a museum of damage inside my chest and half the time
I don’t know what parts of me are on display anymore,
My lonely looks a lot like boredom
when I find myself standing in the bathroom
at 5:00 in the morning staring at my hands,
I have a bad habit of letting my emotions choke me
so that the only words spilling from my mouth
are black and blue lipped lies,
My body is a hostel ghosts like to rent when there is
free space in the attic,
The tendency to self destruct means I am willing to lie down
on your rocks like Prometheus and have you pick at me like a vulture,
I would burn your house down until I am
the only house you have left to run home to,
My breath is the condensation in the shower you forgot to get rid of
that will turn to mould if left to settle,
I can hear the pity in his voice when he calls me pretty,
there is a grave waiting for me when you are finished filling a void,
I am too lazy to figure out how to heal myself,
I have never been enough for those who did not stay.