Home

Home… I was once told home is where you lay you head to rest… but no rest can I find. Always some dreary thought staggering in my weary brain. I negate the thoughts… and then in return chaos grows. If I think depression follows… if I do not chaos shows. A flux bread upon my negativity. Feeding on my savage rage of self torment. Pluck the angels wings for she gives me no shelter from this pain. No help do I receive only the present comfort of chaos. This is where my mind was born… and my heart died. In this lonely decay of starved emotions. And no home do I have to nor rest. Take from me what you will but you can never take all I have nor all that I am. I can not continue to run from these thoughts… though they be my plague for this time upon the road of life. When someone looks upon my broken face… I see their eyes tremble and then in disgust they turn. For a semblance of shelter I urn. Save me from my self and save yourself from me. Nothing can I give you in return nothing is what I have to offer anyone. I only have my thoughts… that is all I own… not even this body God did make way for… and my parents conceived in a lust. Nothing that I have bought do I own… nothing that I wear is mine… for physical means matter not to me. Only the emotions I seek and the emotions I seek shelter from are what I have to carry with me. My only home par to call it one is my abyss of dreary thoughts laid to rest only in content… then the resurrection of pain beings for I can not be happy… the swelling returns… the swelling of my mind. Giving free rain of pain. And now I listen as everyone tells me what I want or need. Whom is right for me when I am not even content with myself much less letting another share my heart… as it was when I was born… broken to a thousand glassy shards… its glistening fragments shining promising only the pain that it gives as you reach to pick the glowing piece… as it bores deep into your flesh giving you the pain that I have… then afraid you leave. As they all have. How can I share myself when I do not even know why I am this way. For why I have held my head so high these years I can not say… and that is all that I know. I do not even remember what I hope for… only that I do. I fear love as much as I do hate… happiness more the sadness… I know sadness… I feel it with every beat of my dead heart. Yes my dead heart that pumps the black blood that flows throughout my shredded veins. Dead because it is broken and unable to heal. As it was when I was born nothing has changed only that I have learned of pain and forgotten why I hurt. What few happy memories I do have… a fabrication of wanting. And now I’m home… sure. Home this bitter circle of pain… turning and spinning pushing me into the sides; the walls of the shadows. Where my painful memories lay in rest… till woken by frail body slamming into them… these that corridors of my mind… my essence forming a mirror of my body running through seeing, searching… dying. Alone with a torn mask… trying to remember how many layers I must tear away to find myself… digging to deep and pulling my self from me. Losing what I am searching for. Losing what has always been lost. This stammering transition or thoughts… the swirling of understanding. The blatant closure of hopes. Why do I hope… when I only lose that which I hope for to a permanent stature. Take form an fly from me… for I am not worth the time. As they do. Looking back and seeing everyone has passed me by forgotten what I once was what they once felt… or was that a fabrication of loneliness. Stand upon this rock… the one I lay my head to rest… this sphere we call home… and see as you do… live as you do. And still I shall be in my abyss being swallowed by the pain, thoughts, and fears. That I have learned of… and still upon my death bed I shall still ponder why. Alone… with no one to watch me… nor comfort me. And even now I debate if I want someone to see me as such. Maybe by then I will have found a home… a shelter from this pain… maybe I shall die alone. Or has my home forgone me?