Cut it and loot it.
Pull the shades down.
Give the end to the beginning and hold on tight to something greater.
Kill it and let it die and sit on the porch and wait by the swings until I tell you to come home.
We are violent by nature
Don’t you ever forget it, we burn down the houses we live in.
Because nobody can save us
We are the things we fear most at all times.
She left me this on the back porch right by the swing set, written in pink marker on butterfly paper folded neatly into thirds. I don’t know where she went, I don’t know if she’ll ever come back, but I can picture her hands on the marker, how hard she was pressing, you can see the words from both sides.
I looked up at the house, still blue and white and pretty and quiet, and I knew right then and there she had thought about lighting a match and burning the whole damn thing down for real. So many memories housed in the brick and cement and paint, so many things that most of us would want to forget.
The inside is coated with it, almost like gasoline, and it gets on your fingers when you touch it. I wondered why we bothered to stay here in the first place, the roof over our heads that we were given as our own personal cage. The place where we saw the things we could never unsee.
It’s as if he said here baby, take the house, so you’ll always remember the exact place I put your head through the wall. It all seemed so pointless now, to have moved here, to have decided to try and make this place a home. The walls seemed to convulse and push and laugh, so I took the hammer out of the toolbox, and started to smash.