They say home is where the heart is,
but if I hate my home, does that make me heartless?
See “home sweet home” are words I never utter,
I shudder at the thought of me being caged in my cell.
Piss-colored walls that breathe down my neck
are my escape from the wreck that is my every day;
my “you do nothing,” my “you say nothing,”
my “I mean nothing,”
to you. To anyone.
If I left tomorrow, would you bat an eye,
would you cry, would you say anything to anyone?
Or would it just be another Tuesday to you?
Rather than sink in your judgment and hate
I create a life outside of you,
a life outside of me,
and I exist there instead.
Because to be here, is to be at the gallows pole,
praying for the bells to chime,
to save me from this place,
this place you call home, but I call hell.
Well I’m tired of praying
because nobody answers,
so I’ll ring the bell myself,
and say goodbye to you.