I used to be in touch with my scarred side, my black, wounded, bleeding, screaming side.

I was forced to choose between two worlds, normal or unnatural, real or surreal.

I was forced to work so hard so long that I lost sense of my true self, a shell of the real me that I used to be.

Then one day it happened, my mind woke up, and smelled the ashes, my old wounds upened up, smiling in their reaquaintance.

The focus of everything shifted, becoming more blurred, confused, surreal.

My sanity being dragged away by the beautiful black cords of a free life, insanity taking over once again.

I may be crazy, insane, dangerous, but god...


                                       Its good to be home.