Where is home?
It is not here,
This place containing faces that are unchanging.

There is no escape,
Haunted by the ropes you are entrenched in
Pulling at you from all directions.

As you feel the pain,
You can do nothing
But stand there and cry.

As the tears run,
Your mind races, your heart beats in your ears,
You stand up from the low point which you were just in.

Ripping the ropes apart,
Shredding their tethers as you break free
From this world you are trapped in.

You are dying, begging,
Counting the days...

Until you leave this *brick built prison.

For he is the only one who has ever told me to cry. He is the only one who said, it is beautiful to cry, it is the only way you will feel better. He sits with me, even when we are not together. He listens, even when we are miles apart. He shares my obsession of a classy $3 bottle of wine and the southern love of red shouting about on the television screen. The feel of his all too flamboyant thrift shop fur entrenching my body as his arms wrap around me is what makes me feel loved. My best friend, he is. In a short time, he became so and so he will stay.