This old house reeks of you
of us, our life and your broken promises.
I can smell the cedar when I walk into the bedroom
from the hope chest, you built our dreams on.
I can smell your cologne, still lingering in the bathroom
for I shattered every bottle against the tile floors
that you painstakingly laid…
as you built our home.
The living room is painted in your favorite shade,
the color of my eyes, they used to sparkle blue.
Even though I splattered the walls with the charcoal
paint, that reminded me of ash…made me think of you.
I cannot even walk outside
without being reminded of our life
like the old oak tree with the etching
of two initials, burned into the bark.
I still remember when you did it
you made my heart melt.
Now I look upon these shattered dreams
and broken pieces of our home…
and want nothing more than
to take a single match and all this rage
and burn it to the fucking ground