My home.
Those two words most people
take for granted.
I miss my home
playing in the grass.
I miss my life
I was forced to leave behind.
Those lovely places
I can no longer remember.
The lives I touched
are no longer shining.
The faces I knew
are now just blank stares.

My home.
Do you ever think
about if you were to leave?
Where would you go
and would you be accepted?
Did you ever think
of these things?
Will you ever have
to put them into action?
Will you always
stay warm in your bed?
Will you live
forever?
Will you live past
your thirties?
All of this should
trigger some thinking.
Can you think of someone
just dropped off on their ***?

My home.
Where is your home
if you have one?
Where will it be
if you leave?
My home is back
in Ireland.
My home was, was
so beautiful.
Everything was taken from me
all in just a few days.
I was so young
barely 24.
Everything was so simple
until things smashed down.

My home.
My home was all
I had for myself.
It was all taken from me
in just two weeks.
Once the sickness
sets in there is no hope.
My health rapidly declined
and I was no longer me.
I was just a fleshy mass
that looked like me.
I had no emotion
or expression.

My home.
My home quickly became
that hospital I was dying in.
I had bronchitis at first
but pneumonia quicly followed.
They did everything for those
two diseases but ignored underlying ones.
In the second week of my
hospital stay.
I was put on a
breathing machine.
Hypothermia set in
and Death visited frequently.

My home.
My home was my bed
I layed and died in.
Life support was
my only option.
Three days of no response
I was taken off.
I died in my
so called home.
In that bed
I layed in for two weeks.
Death was swift and my new home
was yet to be determined.


My home.
Those two little
important words.
Think about your life
and what you will leave behind.
Think about who
you leave behind.
Just think about
your home.

My home is obsolete.