This is where I have called home
My entire life.
I own a rundown cottage
Next to a poisoned stream
devoid of life.

Everything is the color
Of nuclear winter.

And in this post-apocalyptic story,
There are no heroes, no villains left
In which I can place the blame;
There is only my self-doubt
And the quiet rustling of my thoughts
Against the bare concrete.

Welcome to the dark.

This home in my head
Where the light has all but been
Eaten by my own sense of
Existential dread.

I hate it here as much as you do.

The look on your faces,
The reminders that I exist and
That you miss me.
I wish I could change and move back
But my lease doesn't have a definite
Expiration.