It's dusty in here where your heart used to be
so happy and whole.
There are shards from the frisbee-plates in the other room.
That door of ours you slammed on your way out
still hangs off its hinges.
I haven't cleaned up anything
that was yours.
I guess you were right, I don't keep things very tidy in my room;
Letters, letters, letters,
and a promise
I ripped up.

All this breaking--
why not me?