Home Is An Experience

"Home is an experience" 
One that I would rather like to not feel at all. 
Like the thought of a rusty razor blade bulldozing in its approach, coming for my tightly coiled pubic hair for a close shave. 
Shaving the hairs along my arms that i was beginning to be proud of. 
Proud of my achievements. 
Proud of the person i was becoming. 
Proud of what i had built - which you were able to demolish in a day - No, within an hour and within a minute it was gone, my memory doubting if even for a second it was ever there.
Made me doubt how strong the building materials were for you to knock them down so recklessly 
No art to it at all. 
You did not even try to be beautiful in your destruction - because that I would have appreciated. 
Instead you tore me apart like a piece of raw steak among starved wolves... then called yourself home. 
Made me have to need you. 
Tried to reduce, reuse and recycle the outside world so that i be dependent on you alone. 
I felt your acidity burn and liquidize my insides and watched them flow out of every available opening in my body, they say find your poison and let it kill you.  
You told me i was being purged of my demons. But i felt empty... Like i had lost all of my roommates. Felt like nothing but a shell. And only then did you say I was perfect. 
You called me home. Told me you were mine. 
i lived within myself, feeling nothing at all and you explained to me how this was the true experience of love. 
See, you used these words, "Home, Love, Self and God" and the more they came out of your mouth the more i hated them. 
And the more i hated myself. 
"Home is an experience", that i shouldn't have had to experience. 
And i will always be resentful of that. 
Or at least up until the Spirit finds refuge in this empty shell. 
The empty shell i've learnt to call home. 
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