The Going Price For Home.

The Going Price For Home.


"They don't hear the serpent that burns your ear,
Or the coward that sits alone in your head with itch...
Baby look out!
Because I'm so sorry that you could ever,
I'm so sorry for you, you'll never love again..."

He is sitting silent. He is walking in the rain. Looking to the sky for answers that never seem to come. He has known this for years. "Time changes all things.", he muses. A look on his lips that passersby wouldn't understand. He returns to the four walls he inhabits with himself. A room so empty, but so full of ghosts. Time continues to pass. He stands in the shower, scalding water turning his tired skin red. "How", he thinks. "How do I purge all that is unnecessary within myself?" Over time he has come to fear talismans as objects of attachment. The weight he is sure that will settle upon his heart with full force were he to glance or wear such a thing. "The emptiness is bad enough," he thinks.
"Why would I try and make it worse? Why is self-destruction sometimes so much easier?"
The water runs down red flesh into a drain; taking everything from his skin. His attempt at cleansing his mind at an end for another day.

Occasionally when not looking into himself, he looks outward. Looking at others. Sometimes entranced. Sometimes disgusted. Sometimes it's like a spear to the chest. A call to turn back inward. Or blind himself.