Verse by @port.calloway

i saved the last cigarette for a braver night my mother taught me how to fold a grudge i am practicing being the kind of quiet you can stand the wallpaper remembers the wrong colors

i wore your city like a borrowed coat you left your jacket on the chair like a promise the cold got into the bones of the house the kettle screams and i let it

i keep the receipts of everything i felt the dog still waits by the door at six the bus came and i did not get on i buried the argument in the yard

i am the last one at the party fixing the lights the sea does not remember any of our names we sang until the neighbors forgave us the cold got into the bones of the house

you can hear the whole town breathing at four am the field went gold then went to sleep i am the last one at the party fixing the lights there is a version of us that stayed

the mirror learned my face by accident nothing holy ever asked for my name