this place was still citrus scented and rectangular
i remember the chairs and the door that just wouldn't latch
the walls had shrunk into themselves while i'd been away
i could barely see the etchings of my dreams on the curtains
cigarette butts deteriorated on the balcony, and my books
still had creases in the corners where i had left them
this place had almost been home, even on the days
i wanted to burn it to the ground with myself in it.