I’m not home.
Where am I?
Lost in a day to day world, I can barely find myself anymore. Breathing in the ashes of a late night smoke. I wonder where I’m supposed to be.
All around me are familiar faces, yet I can’t tell you the last time we had a decent conversation.
The tensions are high, and no one really cares. Like a game of sticks, were all holding each other up, but the second I move is the second they’ll all come crashing down.
I can’t sleep in this house.
So I weep. And I wilt. And I write. And I weep some more. I am a rose among thorns, or perhaps I am the thorn myself.
Because I’m a weak ass bitch. I can’t hold in those emotions forever. I can’t play pretend dollhouse like living here makes me feel okay. Because if perfect is what were aiming for, nothing is perfect here anymore. Because I’d rather be anywhere but here most nights and most days.
Because I’m not home.
But I don’t know where home is anymore. I’m not sure if home is a place, or a person, or a feeling.
I see glimmers of home amongst the gardens in pale moonlight. I see glimmers of home in books on bookshelves over fireplaces in places that are not my own. I see glimmers of home everywhere and anywhere but here. I dream of tasting far away lands, it’s on the top of my tongue, yet I’m bound, I can’t get there. But I just know home is out there waiting for me to taste it.
So why is there so much pain here? So much hate? So many things to contemplate while I await freedom from within this cage that is not home, and will never be home for me. Dragging me down day by day. I can’t see out of this hate laced fog. Please save me.
I’m not home. So where am I?
– Lemon Ghost