Stumble through the door
Buzzed by alcohol
Wounded by a blade
High by nicotine.
I fall against the windowed door as it closes
Breathe out, condensation covers the windowpane
The door closes and I slide down on it.
This is home
This is where I breathe
Where no conflicts exist
When I can step back from the storm
And assemble thoughts out of madness.
This is what home is for me
My emotional shelter.
The helter skelter
Melted the walls
Alcohol drips from my chin
Blood covers my fingertips
Smoke is in my lungs.
I'm hidden behind the door.
Author notes
Home is the place to breathe. Emotional shelter. A quiet place.
A contest entry
- Home ! by Hebz.
480 points, ended July 3, 10 entries
• next poem in this contest, remove from contest
Be helpful.
Comments
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I really like this. Home is not always the clean and tidy, roses round the door place. Depending where in this world you live, home can even be a cardboard box. I loved your "Emotional shelter", a place to lick your wounds, as so many in this troubled world need. Well done
Sheila
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Very passionate about home, very good write.
I engjoyed reading it as well as your concept itself.
Yes, Home is where we can breathe well.
Thnx for entering & Best of Luck
GloriousGift
Hebz
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