When you mentioned home, memories seemed to have faded away
how it smelled was forgotten
how it broke into floating letters
H
O
M
E
was remembered.
How we were fed only
for the worms in our graves
for its darkness to wrap us soothingly.
I was neither born with a silver spoon
nor did I know what a "soft war" is
until
my dreams faded
and memories began to be silenced
by the earth
where it was nurtured.
Home was terrible than the mouth of shark
I loved it
I absorbed the pain that flowed therein… yet! its sourness would always taste candied.
Those times
dark moments,
bleeding hearts.
I wanted them
those moments of ironic happiness
those memories I burnt
for what could never be like home
for lies that spooked me
I lost them all
to what they painted home to be…"riot"
and I forgot home
is the place where my story began.
Why should I have written “happy” when my pen bled not about HOME.