Every word I read aches;
aches like the glowing coals of a dying fire,
aches like the throbbing that starts at the base of your skull.
Every word I read spells your name and I
can’t get you out of my head.
I don’t want you out of my head.
I don’t want you to leave.

Every word aches like my chest
and I know I am long gone out of your thoughts
but when I think about kissing other people
all I can imagine are your hands cupping my face
your lips kissing my forehead as you sing to me
with music playing in the background and a feeling of
safety, a feeling of “home”.

What am I supposed to do now? Please tell me.
I am so lost, so afraid, and all I want is to come home to you
but you’ve changed the locks
and I’ve probably lost my keys
anyway.

My mother once told me
“You shouldn’t make homes out of human beings.”
but I found you
with a vacant heart
among cold hands
and I knew right then that I wanted
to kiss you with a thousand life long promises,
to shout out to the rooftops
“come live in my heart
and pay no rent”.

You have made your home in me,
nestled tightly between the spaces
of the left side of my ribcage.
I hope I have proved myself a rebel to my mother,
And that I also live in the spaces of yours.

I pull at the loose threads of my jacket sleeves
imagining I was pulling the seams of my stability.
The thought of coming undone is morbidly amusing.

F. Scott Fitzgerald once said that you never get any privacy at small parties, which is why I prefer to drown in the bass of club music,
dim lighting, and a sea of people.
No one takes notice while you slowly disintegrate
into a glass of liquor
right in front of their eyes.

I guess I like it that way.
Leave me to my own devices.
I will destroy myself only to be rebuilt,
like a phoenix rising from the ashes.
Just perhaps not as beautiful,
or poetic.