Bedrooms are intimate. Showing someone exactly where you breathe is special. To see it, they have to worship every breath that goes in and out, even if your exhale is poison. The walls still smell like you Last week, I pulled the sheets off the bed. I placed them in the burn pile. I do not wish to see you. This week, I painted everything a new color, a darker shade. I pulled down the Christmas lights and let my stars burn out. I placed them in the burn pile. I do not wish to see you. I ripped stuffed animals off the shelves and letters off the dresser. Even the photo album went in the burn pile. I do not wish to see you. The flowers off the desk... They were dead anyway. I do not wish to see you. Everything in a bedroom is sacred. Not everyone belongs there; you sure didn't. You kissed everything with fiery lips and charcoal dust and I am still sweeping up. I continue to find your ashes in my bed. I do not wish to see you. You took everything. You took my air and gave me back poison. I couldn't tell the difference. But the worst thing you took from my room is me. I do not wish to see you. I do not wish to see you. *I put you in the burn pile. I see you in the flames. I see you everywhere. I start to tear at the drywall.