"Home Syndrome"

Something from the vault (old journal), so to speak. This is loosely based on my life but it's mostly just me writing from someone else's perspective rather than my own experience alone solely.

Not enough, the life is rough, never enough.. The going is getting more than just tough, well tough because a true man makes his own luck.

That's just the way the cookie crumbles, in a shattering showing of jumbles, mumbles and he bumbles around, suddenly he felt more like a poor excuse of a clown.

These jokes about him, the funny bone ain't working because all he feels the urge to do is lie just fall over and die, still that emotional mess of a hot wreck, the fire is still sizzling, the bubbling is not stopping the flame is jumping and engraving a burn wound spelling out the damned words to let the festering insue.

“you lose.”

Cause the pain is too much the day is too little, belittling this mind, holding another round of beatings with himself the same thing that he once already said, the exact action he always acted out with this holding of mental negotiations.

Punch a wall maybe a mirror because he's so sick of seeing his face take the knife and slice the neck, slump over and fall to a glorious demise, gory laying in the puddle of red and the tear’s hue of a depressing blue.

Wake up, he dreamt of that nightmare again, not enough.. Never enough, the neck still stings but the scar is nowhere to be seen.

Laying there and he feel's like the bed is wetted by the very same crimson red he made pretend and bled out with, “It's not real it's just the mind playing tricks.” he sometimes says, trying to make himself not just think about the vivid imagery.

He led this life as the pawn he always was, the figment of a crown was always on his head due to a overblown ego but not even a king is all powerful, all mighty, all hail to the false idol because he's the opposite of just being an average man he's the one everyone wants to be like, a local celebrity crushed by the weight of everyone's admiration, being loved shall be his demise.

The same somber walk, the rain drops on his head, the cold heavy shower with his face still slinked down held to the ground looking at the two black canvas shoes as each foot still slowly moves, dragging the feet as he headed back to the sweet sheltering, off away from his personal hell.

Knock on the door and hear the nostolgic tone as the entrance opens to his old humble abode..

“Welcome Home!”

She asks him the same question. He tosses his backpack to the floor and say's the same line as he hides his bruised eye.

“It was fine.”

Author's Note

Please tell me what you think of this old one I wrote quite some time ago ^^