One becomes acquainted to a certain way of life if lived in long enough
The most tragic of these circumstances being a found comfortableness in misery
When tears become routine and shaky hands are a custom
This is where home resides.
Light and love turn into foreign enemies against our comfort as we push away the people and things that mean to help
Ending in our personal isolated hell.
We find ourselves having rather cried ourselves to sleep than feel an ounce of joy rip through our walls
Happiness is so stiff and awkward it becomes an unwanted dinner guest and we are forced to realize that if we choose to get better we must feel quite a bit worse
And this is far more difficult than finding content in our cold misery.
The sum of the former is surely greater in value
Though it comes at the cost of our comfort.
We must trade goosebumps for smiles and tell ourselves it’s worth it
Even though it very well may not be.