Current mood:	cold
Entry tags:	tm

235 -|- Home is where the heart is.

 My home is empty, barren; there is nothing there besides walls and floor.  Once I tried to make it a home but through my own mistakes and foolishness, I let it fall into ruin that mimics my existence.  Now it is nothing, and now I leave it empty and deserted for while it holds no tangible items, it contains many memories.  Many of them happy and warm and some of them very angry and violent, painful.  I am unable to face them, so I run from them.

I hide in the mountains, and in the forest, in swamps and in the dirtiest places I can find in order to lose all sense of what I once was.  I would cut out my tongue, if I did not need it to beg, and I would gouge out my eyes if I did not need them in order to see what I have done.

My being is my punishment, and now I make my home in a world that fears me, surrounded by people who do not see me, following after a man who I have wronged. 

I have no bed to lay my head, and no bowl to eat from, but those were just acts to begin with.  I fear now that everything is just an act, motions I perform in order to give myself some meaning besides what I was meant to do.  I sometimes wish for my old home back, my old life, but I know that if I had it back I would simply ruin it again with my incompetence. 

But still I move, still I beg and plead for forgiveness.  Perhaps if I am contrite, if I am absolved, then my being will be a little less painful.  I do not deserve such mercy, but one day I might.

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