i thought i was happy to be home but the familiarity is making me sick
memories lie around every bend, on every corner, at every stoplight
like a graveyard of moments spanning for miles in every direction
a graveyard tailored just to torment me and it is my anchor
tombstones wink at me as i drive through my gold country
down to sunrise boulevard where the remnants of my childhood
are still smoking feebly and the ashes catch the delta breeze
there are ghosts everywhere, there are eyes on me, i can’t fucking breathe
this is what a heart attack must feel like
dozens of arbitrary, violent flutters of my most vital and fragile organ
what a persistent, loyal little thing of valves, chambers and muscle
to continue pumping life through my body
all i want is to disappear, to not burn everything i touch
so i’ll pretend i’m someone else for a night and i’ll smoke until my lungs burn
and once i’m alone again in the deafening silence of my room
i’ll close my eyes and think of another place, far from here
some new city, green and misty, somewhere you can smell the sea
somewhere with kind people and gentle smiles
somewhere life moves with you, not against you
somewhere i am not me