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Which home would I go back to? —the one where I may be related by blood but has scarred me for life with words and deeds they can't undo?
Or would I go home to the one where I have crossed with nothing but a wire —braving depths of toxic oceans underneath? Not only did it left me hanging, it even cut off my only lifeline with a single word
Would I go home to the one who offered me a place to stay for a night of turmoil only to drive me out the next because I was one of the "temporaries"?
Would I go home to the one where I felt most alive but was burned to the ground by the system of the world and the desire to gain it?
To the home of flies and rubbish that once have been me or to the innocent rivers of pure dreaming and motivation flowing freely and without anxiety —both are razed to the ground by my own hands with the help of people who promised to fix me but ended up wrecking more— Tell me now—to which home would I have to go back to just to rest—at long last
