Botheration lingers where warmth once stayed.
It’s the marks of red, streaked across pale walls—
boredom’s proud rebellion,
and I find pride hard to look away from.
It’s got me thinking of someone else,
while bitterness rearranges the furniture of my mind.

If the new one leaves me hollow,
will loneliness stitch me back together
or leave me scattered?

Maybe.

And maybe the sheets will smolder,
the way his breath once did, as...