Rot

I opened the door.
Let you in.
Showed you the rooms
I never showed anyone.
The cracks,
the stains,
the darkness
that chews at me from the inside.

I thought you’d understand.
I thought you’d stay.
But the moment I let you see
what I was made of
you flinched.
Stepped back.
Turned away.

You moved me
to the edges of your life
like a thing you didn’t want
to touch again.
Like I was dirt
you’d brushed off your hands.

And then
silence.
No goodbye.
Just distance.
Just me, left
in the same dark room
I had once opened for you
except now
your absence rots here too,
spreading through me
like mold.

You didn’t just leave.
You threw me to the wolves
inside my own chest.
And now they eat.