You can’t always go home.
I don’t have a home. This isn’t my home. I lost it, and me. You blink, and it’s gone. Days, weeks, months years. Down the tubes, where has it gone? Vague memories are all that’s left, those and the sick feeling that you’re missing something. And it never goes away. Always that lump in your throat, tears welling up and threatening to break the dam. You swallow it all back as best you can because if you start you might not stop.
You catch a glimpse of yourself in the mirror and wonder who the hell it is looking back at you. It startles for a second, because it was just yesterday that there was a vibrant, young, smiling person in the glass… That was yesterday, right?
No control, take control of what you can. The sadness and the anger bubbling close to the surface. Smile, choke on it.
You’re so mad and bitter. Always ready for a fight. Hoping for it. Begging for it. Searching for something, anything, to fill that void.
You should hurt me. You should try. Go ahead, take a swing, take a swing, push, pull, grab me and throw me up against a wall. I’ll fucking explode, I’ll unleash years of pent up rage. We’ll see. You laugh. I’m so demure, big eyes, sad puppy. We’ll see. I want it. I want it so bad…
You want your turn? Go ahead. Fucking take it. I dare you.