Depression reaved my friends
Coaxing them with her motherly apparition
Nurturing  their tears by plundering their motivation
Depression deceived my friends
Singing a sweet lullaby of anxiety and isolation
Cradling their meager hearts in her lonely hands
Depression was once my friend
But I cast-off her beguiling, love-robbing sham

I've been lying here for 3 hours now
Staring at the wall
Stravinsky plays, but I don't listen
My eyes are glazed
My mind adrift

and I am in limbo.

Somewhere between fantasy and reality
Somewhere between elation and despair

Here I lie,
Suspended in time and space
Not quite sure how to exist
And ready to go home.

I have searched this darkness
for something
more permanent,
but as I walk through
fresh-cut fields of memories,
I lay down these words-
homesick for myself

@S.M.S.

i live in a house
at the corner of the 3rd street
with white painted walls
made out of bricks of fake happiness and shattered hopes
like how my mother and my father
treated their emptiness like an old friend
and caged their love in the basement

i live in a house
with tiled staircases
and silenced curiosity
where the whys and the hows and when did it all started
all the questions
recycled, in my head at least
but none of us get the answer
none of us have the answer

i live in a house
where yelling is a way of communicating
and screams are lullabies
where good night kisses are slamming doors
where the bed feels like the only safe place when it should be the mothers arms and the fathers love
where i kneel down hoping god could at least end this
i do not want to see the sun anymore
because
the sun means another arguments and another heartbreak
until it numbs
until it has nothing more to destroy

i live in a house
by the corner of the 3rd street
where i could not call home
a house that makes me feel
h o m e s i c k
like i am in an unfamiliar town
not only lost
i am invisible
i am there but i am not there
and my voice feels like as if it were to disappear
every time i cry for help

maybe
just maybe
if mother and father
could look at each other
and feel something instead of nothing
feel love instead of cold regrets and unreasonable angers
maybe i could be at home again
maybe if my echoed voice
could reach you
and you acknowledge it
maybe i would be at home again

… for somewhere I've never been.
None of the places
I've used to store my ****
and myself
have ever made me feel anything
besides temporary warmth.
None of them have felt like
the relief that spring air brings
to my tired lungs
after a long, cold Upstate winter
when bitter turns sweet
and change is unexpectedly welcomed.

All these structures,
these secret keepers,
have never made me feel
like a dog in a field
or a child with a new toy
or the heavy sigh you let out
after another long day
of getting pushed around by the universe.

But before I die, I swear I'll find it -
a place where time is elusive
and I don't follow the clock
A place where the firing of synapses
aren't littered with cyclical logic
caring too much, or not at all
and every day is warm
like fresh laundry
and the sun shares its good graces
on the back of my neck
and this place will finally
earn the title "home".

Nostalgia--
Homesick and lovesick,
But neither homeless nor loveless.

when I die

turn my body into ashes

and

spread it over the ocean

so I can go home

after a lifetime of feeling

homesick