the white house sits empty now
and you can't sell it no matter how hard you try
the house we built with our bare hands and raw promises
we could've sworn we would always keep
too young to know how heavy hearts are to hold
i told myself i would never come back here, to this house
to the white paint bending
reluctantly over rot
peeling off in long languid strips
i try not to remember how warmly it once held me
how warmly you held me in it's walls
tightly too, as if your skin was my own
protecting me from the chill that was always there
that i never noticed
i haven't felt warm since you peeled your skin from mine
reluctantly, in long languid strips
you tore me from this home we built
and made it nothing but rot
with a for sale sign in the front yard
probably why it won't sell
i don't know if i even miss you
or just that extra layer of skin
because i am ******* cold
i said i would never come back here
but here i am, bare feet to yellowing grass
toes turning white
the neighbors we used to crack jokes with
shaking their heads while drawing their window shades
i squint my eyes
seeing the orange glow far off in the distance
tilted my head towards
where you stood by the window, blue in the morning light
pouring milk into your coffee
and in mine
wearing the oversized sweater that i got for you
for your birthday, decades ago
where you kissed my lips, my forehead, my cheeks
before leaving for work
where you picked me up so i could place the angel on top of the christmas tree
where we loved
where i asked you for one last kiss
and where you said, "no"
where i lived and died
the earth will shallow this house whole
before anyone buys it
i get back into my car
and this time, i will never come back
Oct 31, 2025
Oct 31, 2025 at 3:29 PM UTC
the white house sits empty now
and you can't sell it no matter how hard you try
the house we built with our bare hands and raw promises
we could've sworn we would always keep
too young to know how heavy hearts are to hold
i told myself i would never come back here, to this house
to the white paint bending
reluctantly over rot
peeling off in long languid strips
i try not to remember how warmly it once held me
how warmly you held me in it's walls
tightly too, as if your skin was my own
protecting me from the chill that was always there
that i never noticed
i haven't felt warm since you peeled your skin from mine
reluctantly, in long languid strips
you tore me from this home we built
and made it nothing but rot
with a for sale sign in the front yard
probably why it won't sell
i don't know if i even miss you
or just that extra layer of skin
because i am ******* cold
i said i would never come back here
but here i am, bare feet to yellowing grass
toes turning white
the neighbors we used to crack jokes with
shaking their heads while drawing their window shades
i squint my eyes
seeing the orange glow far off in the distance
tilted my head towards
where you stood by the window, blue in the morning light
pouring milk into your coffee
and in mine
wearing the oversized sweater that i got for you
for your birthday, decades ago
where you kissed my lips, my forehead, my cheeks
before leaving for work
where you picked me up so i could place the angel on top of the christmas tree
where we loved
where i asked you for one last kiss
and where you said, "no"
where i lived and died
the earth will shallow this house whole
before anyone buys it
i get back into my car
and this time, i will never come back