A long ride home to find myself lonely like the adventure I left. Another late night thinking back to same situations and more numbers that don't ring when I'm in need. A long list empty . . . devoid of voices to comfort the darker side of me.
Somehow familiar landmarks only help in forcing the realization that I'm growing ancient in a young world. Outside, the familiar streets take on foreign taint. Still nobody knows my name.
The motions I wander through aimlessly aren't helping and I imagine new beginnings, still holding on to old memories . . . having difficulty seperating memory from moment . . . in a habit of seeking out old faces . . . I haven't faced the fact that friendly faces are smiling more at my expense then at my homecoming . . . no fanfare for entering the gates . . . a list of enemies and non-well wishers I keep for purposes I can't place . . . nights like these beg for sleep yet I remain awake . . . car rides have ceased and my escape is gone.
The torture of displacement . . . but this is the town I call home.