Being home is like
being back under the bell jar
(To quote the great Sylvia Plath)
Back under the bell jar, where the air
is stale and ***** and before long
you begin to suffocate.
You feel trapped as would a firefly,
on one of those warm summer nights
where you run around in the grass
feeling the moisture on your bare feet
as you catch as many of the twinkling lights
as you can before they hide for the night.
Trapped, slowly suffocating because in your nightly
adventure, you are careless and free, and this
causes you to forget to put holes in the jar
where you imprison these wonders for the night.
But only for the night, for your carelessness has caused their demise
while you sleep beside these living night lights,
they begin to die, their lights not shining so bright
anymore, yes they die.
Their death symbolizes your depression as the bell jar
closes you in and you become claustrophobic
gasping for the air you know waits just outside your prison
but it's not really there for you will never escape
this horrible place they've put you in
Yes I've twisted catching fireflies into a murderous action
but believe me,

It always was