Home?

 It's exhausting, beginning everything with a fight. To come home, after a tiring day, hoping to find some peace, and then, finding everything just being hell bent on sucking the light and life out of me, leaving me gasping for breath. The last time this happened, I had the beautiful crescent to look at. His smile lifted my soul and his carefree air brought some warmth back into me. Isn't home supposed to be the place where you come back to find yourself, to glue your broken pieces back together; I suppose, I watched too many Hollywood movies. I come home, glue and duct tape on either hands, ready to get myself blown to bits. Maybe I get whatever I ask for, but nobody hears my silent pleas. Maybe I deserve all that I get, but even then, shouldn't I get some break? Since nicotine incenses are not available, I'll burn my soul to poison myself.