Short spurts  get me through
I'm running out of fuel
The siren in warning of the fall to come

By now the idea of making it
Seems like a joke from long ago
Definitely not as funny as I thought it was

Would it change if I closed my eyes
Or is it all the same
Imminent reunion with the prison

Part of me cannot wait
The familiarity of it all drawing me in
Just as it is with human ideology

I  name it 'H.O.M.E'
So I don't confuse it with home
I reside here so I might as well make myself comfortable