In Words of Home

Words lack their due in that I'm going crazy.
If not exactly already there.
I want to go Home.
It can be a problem to breath,
to take step a forward
and not look back.
But oh I so wish to go Home.
So that I may breath my last
and be freed of this broken shell.
To know what freedom is truly like
an emancipation to never long again.

I wish I was smart enough
to stop long enough
to remmeber to not wear my heart
just on my sleeve,
where it collects dirt and scrapes.
Bleeding wounds
I never know how to staunch.
All I have left is this infection,
this disease inside my heart
screaming at my every thought
demanding control.
So, so all I want,
the first and last thought in my mind,
in this burning cold
is to go Home.

The lack of love
which is replaced with fury,
the lack of love
which has become this mass treason,
a degrading of all of my reason
into this trite existence.
Buffers into life and light
and barely being able to see in illuminated dark.
This poison is suffocating,
the smoke is chocking
and I hate this all.
My rage tapers off
into this passionless self hating loathing.
But, may it ever be in this last breath,
I long for Home.


** ** **

Painted images
posing as metaphors
upon this table.
I'm not sure I believe you
in what you say and do.