The Night You Stopped Leaving the Key Under the Mat

The air is soaked in December and
When I breathe it in
It burns
Like whiskey.
Outside your door,
The street is coated
In thick, wet snow.
The lights are off,
But I know you’re home.
It’s three in the goddamn morning.

The air is soaked in cigarettes and
When I breathe it in
It burns
Like Hell.
Outside your door,
I realize that
My demons have a name.
I have nowhere to go
And I know you’re home.
It’s three in the goddamn morning.