his lips are on your pulse point and
his hand is spreading the ribs in your chest,  
you never realized that being this close to
someone meant opening a door.
welcoming them in. they make
their home beneath your skin and you’re
not sure if you want them,
their laughter and their touches.
their bare chests and their breath.

you are a building so many people
have tried to wound their way into.
there are fault lines in your breastbone
and a falter in your pulse and
these days your palms are more
scar tissue than skin.
every breath hurts and
the walls of your heart are covered
in graffiti you can’t stop yourself
from reading. this night is just another
room in a hallway that smells
of wet paint.

burn this house down.
leave the cushions on the carpet
and the dishes in the sink,
smash the mirror with its smudges
before you get the chance to think.

this has nothing to do with forgiveness.
this is how you wake up next to him
and tell him to leave.
make some new graffiti.
sign your name on every surface,
fall in love with the contours of your shadow
kissing the floors.
you are made of smoke and dust and ashes,
you are ready to face the day,
and there’s no room in you for anyone
who doesn’t want to stay.