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The terror of familiarity sears my flesh as the miles count down,
As road my body has hurtled over time and again is passed,
As buildings inhabited by a me who no longer exists go by,
And I know I am home.
My breath crushes in my chest as the vice grip of intimacy clutches me,
And we curve into the clean and neat neighborhood of my youth.
I’m made a mess by the manicured lawns that once signed hate,
Twisting love into disease and my heart into ruins.
The trinkets, the dressings, the displays may change, but
The haunting halls where I took my first steps
Echo with slow pain, and with laughter, and with
Footsteps of beloveds no longer earthly tethered.