your heart is the room that scares me more
another kind of hurt encased in weathered years
i don’t know how to mourn the man you can’t
(but maybe can and will and did,
because that’s always the irony,
it doesn’t help to say he changed–
scars don’t heal like that.
you look at me like i’ve lost my mind when I say
i feel at home here
i fall to the floor
my eyes pointed up at the ceiling,
crisscrossed with a cheap attempt
to cover up the past.
i would cry except the thought of
you staring up at that other ceiling
low and dark and dangerous
holds back my tears.