Home

Building nests inside of you and calling you home

You are the creaky doors and windows whose noises are a necessity for me to fall asleep

The grave I want to spend all of my eternity in after my black hole heart collapses in on itself and I cease to exist

 

Telling you that love isn't something I feel

That it's something I consume with every fiber of my being and become

How much my molecules need to combine with yours to feel whole

 

Repeating the definition of the word “need” into your ear as you sleep

Like some kind of sick attempt at hypnosis to try to convince your subconscious into needing me too

 

Need

Verb

To require something because it is essential or very important

 

Living and breathing in your ribcage and gnawing holes into your bones that are just large enough for me to curl up into and go to sleep within at night

 

Telling you that home isn't something I want but something I need and that graveyards are only so comforting to the ghosts in my heart 

but somehow you, you make my haunted house silent 

 

Carving Capricornus and Pisces into your heart muscles so that it beats to the same pulsating rhythms as the planets above us and the stars that write our love into their skies

Tattooing your favorite song on my body as if it constitutes as a love letter to you forever etched into my flesh for you to trace and carve with your fingers and to exist until I rot

 

Telling you about addiction and how drugs and love aren't so different after all, how they both come with side effects but how hard it is to quit the feeling happy.

 

Growing flowers in your chest and curling up around your heart in the one place where the monsters in my head can't lick my open exit wounds

As essential to my survival as the air in my lungs and your hands filling the empty holes that I made a mess of myself with

 

Telling you that I made a list of synonyms for the word “home” and that all twenty words were your name