cold wind outside a dark room
and she says this isn’t working

the first week of may

the smell of witches burning

every wall holding up another one
and the way houses grow from
this simple idea

the way windows are broken
or gods diminished

the ones who insist that belief
is not an option but
a necessity

that a home is more than
shelter from the rain

and what she says is
i’m not happy
and what it is is an accusation

what she says is
i love you
but i don’t know why

this admission too much
like the
sound of breaking bones

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