—it makes me cold—

home is a lost cause,

inverted commas 

upon inverted commas

of blank dialogue,

capturing the conversation

of dry eyes looking for somewhere else to look,

and eventually looking everywhere 

but my face.

home is the pause in the conversation

where everything lulls

and i hasten to say something,

anything,

but my tongue is stiff and dry

and their empty eyes 

carry their empty bodies

to the road like dust.

home is what we've already given up on,

something made entirely of 

dreams 

and memories

and stories

and words,

thickening the air.

home is what we feed our children,

spoonfuls and spoonfuls of a home

now long gone,

that we salvage 

with all that we are.

home,

as i say,

is a wonderful place.

a place full of laughter and smiles and happiness.

and it still exists, somewhere, 

just for a different person.

for a different mind.

looking for another heart to warm.