Looking through the rubble of the mess you left in me.
I find fragments of love in every drawer left abandoned and corner of these rooms collecting dust.
I see cigarettes butts left from nights hiding from the rain.
A porch where I asked the question, where have you come from, where are you going?
My darling, where are you now?
I found a home in the lost boys, the motley crew and the fresh new adults, just coasting.
Drunken poets and skinned knee punk kids.
Stick and poke needles and an old roll of paper towel, for the bleeding hearts we prick in each other, or a smiling face, or a symbol of all these unbreakable bonds.
This was my home,
When I walked away from us.
My home when there was nothing left for me but gritty sheets and empty wine bottles.
From depression sweats
And early morning comedown cuddles.
This was where I healed from you.
We laughed, and we cried,
We inked our bodies and we said goodbye.
We took lovers
And we found lovers in friends.
And I'm struggling to walk away from this.
It's 5pm, and I'm still sitting on this porch.
Where everything, turned to nothing, and back to everything again.
It's strange how these filthy floorboards now sit heavier on my chest than you once did.
It's comforting, how empty space feels fuller than a room with you in it.