The heat has finally crawled out through the vents

The heat has finally crawled out through the vents,

leaving the rafters thin and cold.

I'm up here looking for a coat I haven't worn

since the winter we both felt old.

I find a box of psych books from the state school.

A mouse has turned the chapters into fluff,

a gray and weightless confetti of theories

on how we are never quite enough.

The pink insulation guts hang from the wall,

jagged and raw where the drywall cracked.

Everything important is just paper and rot

once you stop keeping the history tracked.