There I was.
Standing still.
Middle of nowhere.

All the dust.
I have spilled.
Middle of nowhere.

Can't adjust.
What you will.
Middle of nowhere.

Just because.
I can't kill.
The middle of nowhere.

Is it really nowhere, when it's right behind my face and below my hair.

There I go.
Walking fast.
Right back home.

All alone.
In the past.
But right at home.

Slowly roam.
Make it last.
Right back home.

Bleed the stone.
Break the cast.
Right at home.

Is it really home, when it's right between my ears and above my throat.

Am I really here? Just because my mind can feel my fear?

Am I really free? Just because my body senses me?

Am I really happy? Just because I'm not too sure what's happening?

Am I really real? Just because my soul decides to feel?

Yet there I was.
Standing still.
In the middle of nowhere.

© inconsystent