This Is My House, This Is My Home
Shattered minds can become someones home, like a schizophrenic waiting for the voices to kick in or a mad man waiting for insanity to take over. Its the dark cave they go into just to hide but never come out. That broken home that lays in the middle of the park made out of old boxes. Its the houses that have been filled with water to the top and still sit in New Orleans. Its the home that is broken into for money. Its the tent that rest in a prisoner land.
These are homes, these are the houses that make the person feel protective, its the land they feel they own that gives them a purpose, its the shelter that hides them from the cold.
The bones that hide in the cave. The man that sits with no stare in his eyes. The schizophrenic that speaks two voices but doesn’t recognize either. The body that has been raped of all the money they once worked hard for. The homeless that drank himself to sleep. The drowned victim who has been untouched on the his floor. The mother waiting for the time to break out of the tent..out of the land but no luck will ever come.
That’s their home, in that house.
