An embodiment of scary things –
Like lies structured as the truth;
Like violence tucked into the chest pocket of a 5-year-old boy;
Like fear painted on the face of anything beautiful;
Like silence planted on the tongue of a voice.
Say home is an irony –
Of anything smashing our minds against rocky places.
Say home is here.
So, i fled…
In search of a voice, beauty, strength, happiness,
And any other thing attached to boyhood.
But reality is my breath –
Everywhere under the sky wears the stench of home,
So to truly flee is to die.
Here, to me, the best way to die
Is feigning happiness – staying glued
Behind screens in search of everything home lacks.
But we find them clothed in robes of temporariness.
But still, we embrace them,
For we’ve learned, to truly flee from home
Is to die.
And herein, this is the best way to die.