you have grown into the habit of walking out,
and grown out of the habit of sneaking past the door
when we slept-
because you were convinced
that the walls slammed into our bones
hard enough to make us sick.
you used to think of every coincidence
i don’t know what you think of anymore.
these last few years,
you’ve been leaving too many footprints
on the floors
from the number of times
you’ve almost walked out,
because the seasons were seeping through the ceiling
and you’ve been away for far too long
to remember how to
we keep painting everything in white
before you come back-
it’s tragic for new tables to have old mats,
but not nearly as much as
for old faces to have new feelings.
the thing about hatred is that
you can smoke a pack of cigarettes,
build it a necropolis on the branches
of your bronchi, and then
let the city mourn in a year long winter
with violent snowstorms
that rip your trachea out of it’s ground,
hatred will kill your cells faster
than the cold.
you have stuffed every brick in my body
with the feeling that comes
from never being understood,
and painted it on your tongue
like a mural
hungry for plaudits.
you brought tsunamis crashing into my muscles,
seismic waves rippling under my skin,
where the tectonic plates don’t just
slam into each other,
but skewer through.
some globes make for a much better map-
with oceans bleeding out through
the rips in the eyelids.
some people make for a much better centerpiece-
who you’ve already spent years chiseling slowly,
until the only thing holding them upright
was the fear of
you’ve become a connoisseur of sorts-
collecting our silences disguised
you’ve become something
in the name of being someone else,
and i’ve become just another
mistaken effigy with a broken mouth
screaming at you
to throw me out.
for the person i respect, and the person i resent.