If Home is where the heart is then i am cynically homeless . I have no idea where this heart belongs. It seems that whatever beats in this chest was repossessed long ago. By what or by whom I do not know, but it is gone.

And if home is these streets I grew up in then I'd better set up a cardboard box and start begging. Cause these days I wander familiar paths aimlessly, a dreamer that cannot sleep, wondering where it is I should be; because it is not here.

Taking endless bus journies to escape the monotony, seeking a beginning out of the ends. Knowing this place is the death of me but I'll only ever reach purgatory, cause I always cross over and end up back here.

Sometimes I feel like I'm haunted by this place called home.

And if home is this family, then I'm an orphan surely? This family has forgotten itself. Strangers in silence that hoard emotions on shelves, call it store rage as it simmers in stealth. Daily reminder that I'm just mad at myself cause at this age being so dependent is proving bad for my health.

But maybe I say this all unfairly, cause it's a bad day, so let me re evaluate this place I  call home.

Home is this pen I take with me, the thoughts and feelings it sets free.
Home is the memories.
Home is any place I feel at ease, the people I want to come back to when I leave, the comfort food I eat.
Home is the arms that hold me,  keep me connected when I'm lonely.
Home is that reciprocated intimacy, knowing that when I'm gone you miss me, that smile that only he could give me.
Home is knowing you love me even when i'm angry.
Home is where I can just let it be, those moments of inner peace, the tranquillity.
Home is being care free, laughing uncontrollably making jokes somewhat inappropriately but all in good humour and company.
Home is knowing who I be despite what you see or think of me, singing loudly in public and not self consciously cause fear's been overtaken by curiousity but love mostly.

And maybe I say all this because it's a good day, either way this has got me thinking. Home isn't really a place a person or a thing, it's a feeling. So don't  you see?  I'll always be homeward bound because it begins and ends with me.

I'm just questioning sanity,
hoping that if I walk this path long enough confusion leads to clarity
and that when I reach there finally,
despite countless days in the haze my eyes will be able to see.
That'll I'll be able to lie down in peace without drowning in how you've lied to me.

Cause these days I rest less,
it's why i walk around asleep.
Walking dead, so I'm writing my will free.
Hoping that if I can't trust you again,
I'll at least trust me.