Home

I want to be many things when I'm all grown up. I want to be learned, I want to be cured, I want to be heard; I want to be kinder, I want to be strong.

But right tnow, my greatest want is to just go home. I don't want to be in tihs life that I've made anymore. I want to be away from this person that i've become. i want to be around the people that make me feel safe, not those that try to make me into a better person. i want to cuddle with my puppy, run with my dog, and sleep next to my best friend.

i want to like in a life going in slow-motion, without due dates and times where we can just be.

i want to be home. i want to be home. i want to be home.

goess that didn't work.

The impersonal computer screen is my awaiting audience, afraid to show expectations. Whirring fingers fly across dirty keys; it's all dirty. Dirty and old. Life is dirty, I'm dirty. Correction: I'm a mess. Failure follows me like a nightmare. I think I wake up each morning full of new hope, only to realize that I'm living in a dream. You can't control your dreams. Can you control life? Or is so very much out of our control that to claim otherwise would be preposterous at best and arrogant at worst.

My being, though not soul, no, never soul, is peppered with failure. It is in every crack of my body, seeping in through a point of weakness and poisoning the whole. This negativity, unmedicated, pervasive doubt is threatening to make me explode. Funny, sick, I just need to disappear. Melodramatic? Maybe. Where's a good closet when you need it? Where are good -make-me-forget-how-to-breathe- drugs now? I'm too scared to even go off and smoke on my own. Houses. Made for that shit.

Gluttony. All. Mine. Now. Make me sick, make me clean again. So good coming down, ever better going off.