This Isn’t Home

Knotted tightly in my psyche is a feral call:
a plea to return to an unvisited place
where unfamiliar arms can bring rest.
Routine saps the life from my soul - 
within safety it writhes in silent agony
Lacking nourishment unknown - unnamed.
Hunger looks inward to survive famine. 
Ravenous claws stripping only prime cuts -
psychological filet, served bloody and rare. 

I will be the last to walk away from me. 
The world unrecognisably cold and damp
under the footsteps of a more fulfilling life

Lost Reason

Simplicity: a joy that's been lost,
Processes interrupt its ease,
Disturbs its function.
Simplicity: something I currently crave,
People, tasks, processes, all prevent this,
Make my life more difficult.

Success: something I haven't already achieved,
But am now prevented from achieving further,
By those who decide my life blindly.
Success: the necessary  goal of my life,
That despite all my hard work,
Others strive to prevent.

Reason: the motivation to fight until now,
The point of working so hard,
The future I want to attain.
Reason: the drive I've now lost,
The point clouded in beatings.
But one day I'll find it again.