The melody onto your chest that plays,
Muddy rains on the window as the evening slays.
Your voice echo to the tune of my laboured breath
And aside, on the floor, our masks layeth
You show your scars and corpses from the past
I lay my fears to rest at last
My body, you worship in your lover's grace
Holy rituals in our sweet embrace
Goosebumps like vales on my forlorn skin
Awakened spirits like embers within
Amidst our rubbles, blows an ignorant breeze,
My soul so long a slave, you set release...
Human beings no matter where they go in the world, will always seek home: in places, in people, in things, and in food. Perhaps because at the end of the day one wants to be vulnerable and yet are loved. We search for a setting where not the flesh, not the bones, but the very soul beneath it is adored and cradled like a newborn, squealing, and needy for love. As long as I lived with my family, I never realized the worth of home, unless one day, I was out in the wide world, alone, apprehensive, and being indoctrinated by societal norms every single day. The only pockets of peace that I was left with was a 'chosen family': a farrago of strangers that I met, and before I could decide to love or hate them, I was entangled with them like wollen strands in the mesh of a new warm cardigan. I have lived with a plethora of strangers, loved them, held them close in my most vulnerable moments, and then cried bitterly when we parted. After a time, both parties agreed on their fate and mo
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