one, two, three.

1/28/11.

your fingers twitch and you
know s**t's about to go down.
next your heart begins to beat
faster
and
faster
until it feels like it's about to take
flight.
it pounds it's way into your throat,
your stomach is in a knot.
and somehow, you're still standing
wide-eyed with knees locked.
his s**t's on your door step.
to know he was here,
it was just.
too much.
to think he was just mere inches
on the other side of a wooden
barricade,
but the miles between your hearts
could suffocate you.
so you drag it.
all of your s**t he'd left behind
everything that reminded him of
the two of you.
backyard.
gasoline.
gasoline everywhere.
it all began, and ends,
with the flick of a zippo.
the lighting of a cigarette.
click, light, inhale, exhale.
repeat.
drop it.
run.