When people say home, you think of walls and a rood.
The place you go to when you don't want to deal with the world anymore.
Here lately, I have been running home, only to notice that it was never my home, to begin with.
Home was two arms and a heartbeat.
Home was my head on her lap, as she stroked my heart out my face.
Home was waking up to breakfast on the weekdays, and a joint on the weekends, with her.
Home was the way her voice sounded, and the little things she said to make me feel better.
Home was anywhere that she was.
April 1st, 2017. I don't know exactly what time your heart stopped, but I do know that for a moment, mine stopped with it.
YOU ARE READING
Radiant Sorrows
PoetryA collection of my poems. Hope you enjoy. <3 Trigger warning; There is no telling the things that will end up in this story. Be prepared for suicidal thoughts, self-harm, depression, death, grieving, and drug use.
