Home is where the heart is. Sounds cheery don't it?
Not so cheery when that warm feeling in your chest when you are at home isn't overflowing happiness, but actually salt being poured into an open wound. A wound you've been trying your whole life to find the right lifestyle to help you suture closed.
Why do people return to such a place? Do they enjoy the pain? Or is it a situation much sadder. Have they really convinced themselves that this torment is "LOVE"?
It becomes easier to comprehend why a person would not rid themselves of this self-inflicted pain when you find out that they are very sadly confused. Like a junkie that knows the drug is bad but lives in anticipation for the next hit. The high fills up the little craters and crevices until they feel whole again with a flawless smooth surface ready to paint on the fake façade and become…..one of them.
Home, home on the range…more like a shooting range where their judging glare bullets through your side, misses your rib, and tears straight through to your self-confidence. How can one damn look slam you back ten years in time? You're better than this, you're better than who you were when you lived in this damn town…. So why can they still spin your head like this after all this time?
Because all the memories, the time invested, and most importantly because they "know you", they "LOVE you". Right?
Not so cheery when that warm feeling in your chest when you are at home isn't overflowing happiness, but actually salt being poured into an open wound. A wound you've been trying your whole life to find the right lifestyle to help you suture closed.
Why do people return to such a place? Do they enjoy the pain? Or is it a situation much sadder. Have they really convinced themselves that this torment is "LOVE"?
It becomes easier to comprehend why a person would not rid themselves of this self-inflicted pain when you find out that they are very sadly confused. Like a junkie that knows the drug is bad but lives in anticipation for the next hit. The high fills up the little craters and crevices until they feel whole again with a flawless smooth surface ready to paint on the fake façade and become…..one of them.
Home, home on the range…more like a shooting range where their judging glare bullets through your side, misses your rib, and tears straight through to your self-confidence. How can one damn look slam you back ten years in time? You're better than this, you're better than who you were when you lived in this damn town…. So why can they still spin your head like this after all this time?
Because all the memories, the time invested, and most importantly because they "know you", they "LOVE you". Right?
