When things go wrong
my feet develop wanderlust.
The home is no longer a safe haven.
Not when I already am kept here more than I’d like to.
Not when I want more out of this.
This home is not a sanctuary.
A place to confine me to my daily duties.
A place where I am forced to face up to issues I don’t want to face.
A place where it takes so much effort to balance all the delicate issues.
You can always quit a job if you’re not happy.
You can’t just quit like that.
There’s no thought more tempting than to just dress up and get out.
To a club where the music is louder than my thoughts
and my brain ceases to think logically after ample alcohol.
The temporal freedom of not having a working brain.
The loss of need to analyse situations and come up with solutions.
Or embark on those journeys to nowhere.
Just to plainly walk aimlessly in the quiet breeze of the night
and indulge in the soft music singing in my ears.
A silent world, where the people sleep
am the only one awake.
The cigarettes and alcohol are never here
when you need them.
Forced into solitude.