Home is where the heart is, or that's what what they tell me.

I never know if my home is glory or if its hell.

When coming back, my emotions shifts so much I never truly feel,

home.

It’s unlike me to have many wants, but

I just don’t want to feel like I'm burning away,

slowly,

forming ashes of despair.

Burning makes me weak.

When I go home the kids fight in the streets.

The dried blood on the side walk starts to smell like fresh meat.

The next morning reminds me why,

I don’t want to be home.

Is home where the heart is, 

or is it a place my mind?

Am I crazy for thinking home is a place of glory?