Sitting in a room of different demons, I wonder how some play so nicely with others.
Maybe this wasn't meant to be, maybe your hopeless-romantic demons cannot grab the attention of my self-hatred that wishes to destroy every hint of love I may conquer.
But I still feel them beg for the warmth of another's skin, so I wrap them in blankets and tangle myself in memories I'd like to forget; the way you'd get tangled in my hair, the way you'd whisper "mine" at every hint of doubt that so selfishly pooled on my face. But my fear never demolished and soon you were gone with the summer.
I beg to not let them win, but I still crawled into your bed every morning with an intent that had set my demons on fire. It was like fighting fire with fire and the flames grew and I let them burn every bridge to the ground.
I took the tools from the shed and built walls higher and stronger than I ever had before and the weight of another on top of me did not break them down like we had intened.
So I watched you pack a suitcase like all the others. "Don't forget your socks," I'd remind you as you'd button your pants again.
I opened the door for you and watched you leave from the broken window, but you never once looked back and all I have left is every bed sheet we crumpled and every memory we demolished.