I run like a rag doll with a magnet in its belly
But I'm more of a plushie, of course
Sick and bloated, and
So many things that I refuse to be up for debate.
Once I know what home is,
I begin to miss it.
I am right there in my room, mind you,
And I miss it like I miss our jagged conversations
That streamed and ran and disappeared like a mist
The past is a mistake and the present is its lesson.
I miss my home and I'm sick of knowing
Or not knowing
What I say.
The magnet in my belly is dragging me again
What is this life? Of no music, no love,
No biting off our jokes into a deadly palate
What is this life without my own?
Such are days of gloomy moisture
Frizzing my hair out and turning me into a witch,
If only.
What is this life with no wormholes of time travel or a reset button?
No questions please, not tonight,
Let the warm air roll up my neck and reach my ears
Let it speak my tongue, sitting heavy
On my heart
As it echoes the longings towards a faraway home.