Home

Hard to believe that this is home

When there's so little consolation

The sky opens its arms to me

But I'm tethered to hope- my fickle friend

And you want me to love her

And you want me to trust her

But there's too much mirage and stagnation...

And fatigue surmounts me

Yet I'm wide awake

Tilling for nominal growth

At her behest

And you want me to love her

And you want me to trust her

Then hoist me up so I can humor you

And I will try to turn a deaf ear to

The screaming, the laughing, the pell-mell transpiring around me