what tomorrow brings.

i. don't make a home out of me.

i. DON'T MAKE A HOME OUT OF ME.

my scarred fingertips can't fix the bullet holes of your heart when mine has been left broken to pieces for so many years that i can't recall the last time i have felt full, my chest, never as heavy as it once was. don't make a home out of me. do not make my voice your morning alarm. do not call me your coming home when i am left with no lights on in between scattered bones, leaving my heart in the dark all alone. do not slip your hands under my shirt as if i was wearing a welcome home doormat, do not curl your fingers into the core that doesn't know what self worth feels like. don't pour your burdens out like a waterfall and expect me to become a river that carries your problems in the crevasses of my spine when i am already overflowing. don't make a home out of me just to leave me vacant, bare with nothing left to give for i have lost it all with just the thought of loving you. don't light a fire within me and not expect my embers to burn you with the slightest of touch. don't raise your voice when there is already an echo between these empty walls. do not slam my doors out of anger, do not fill the bathtub till it overflows, do not drown me with a hurricane of toxicity and promise that you'll build me up to be beautiful only to have an excuse as to why you can destroy what i've spent so long working on all alone.
do not call me yours.
do not put a worth on something falling apart.

do not try to come back after using all i had to offer and still deciding it wasn't enough.
don't try to make a returning visit for you'll find the door is locked.

don't make a home out of me when i'm better off vacant.