I called it home,
Took off my shoes then tiptoed to the frosted sheets where the winter air crystalized around where you lay.
And so it goes,
The cold that echoes the freezing
Of the plates in the kitchen and the heartbeat therin.
A cat purring in the windowsill,
Drunk off the shimmering lights of the skyline
And the cars that scurried in the streets below us.
Entwined to the glass,
Then awoken from peace
As something shatters behind it.
Your fist in the wall.
I watched as the cat’s purring turned to stiff, frozen fear,
Knew exactly what it felt when its master stormed toward it with hurried, heavy steps.
I breathed heavy breaths through your hot fingers, nostrils flaring.
I was cold and alone in the nights.
Not enough blankets on the sofa.
Slept on the sofa.
Not sleep but lay.
Waited to see if my cat survived another day,
It trapped in the dark hum of the room beside me where you lay.
And when I woke to find her skinner,
My breakfast couldn’t wash out the vomit from my mouth.
Couldn’t kiss you for you smelled rancid of sober mania.
I broke bones building a home,
And you invited others in.
Took my lingerie and dressed a girl that wasn’t me.
You didn’t want me.
So I left home.
I tiptoed through the doors lest you wake,
Lest I shatter the ground with my heels.
When you woke I was afraid.
That’s why I left home.