The wallpaper peeled like a memory trying to shed its skin
Dust held her perfume like a secret that wouldn’t die
And the light hit the mirror just wrong—just enough to reflect her goodbye
There were claw marks in the drywall where the laughter used to live
Notes she’d scribbled in sharpie on the pantry door: “Don’t forget to live”
I forgot anyway. Got too wrapped in silence and spite
She left her name in the walls, etched in cracks and breath and time
A love that didn’t scream when it broke, just quietly bled into the floor
I hear her in the pipes night, and I don’t know if I’m haunted or guilty
I threw out her clothes but kept the drawer she kept her rings in
Told myself I was moving on, but I couldn’t tear down the room she prayed in
Even ghosts need altars, and I’ve become hers
I sleep on the couch now, just in case she visits the bedroom
Pretend the creaks are just age, not regret in high heels
But I know the difference between grief and routine
One day I’ll sell this house to someone who thinks peeling paint is just old paint
But I’ll laugh, ‘cause I know better—she’s still here
And if they ever repaint the walls, I hope they bleed
Lick It Before It Bites
Dust held her perfume like a secret that wouldn’t die
And the light hit the mirror just wrong—just enough to reflect her goodbye
There were claw marks in the drywall where the laughter used to live
Notes she’d scribbled in sharpie on the pantry door: “Don’t forget to live”
I forgot anyway. Got too wrapped in silence and spite
She left her name in the walls, etched in cracks and breath and time
A love that didn’t scream when it broke, just quietly bled into the floor
I hear her in the pipes night, and I don’t know if I’m haunted or guilty
I threw out her clothes but kept the drawer she kept her rings in
Told myself I was moving on, but I couldn’t tear down the room she prayed in
Even ghosts need altars, and I’ve become hers
I sleep on the couch now, just in case she visits the bedroom
Pretend the creaks are just age, not regret in high heels
But I know the difference between grief and routine
One day I’ll sell this house to someone who thinks peeling paint is just old paint
But I’ll laugh, ‘cause I know better—she’s still here
And if they ever repaint the walls, I hope they bleed
Lick It Before It Bites