The Wiring

I want to stay, but staying feels wrong.


Home is a place I only know how to leave.


Even comfort starts to sound like a warning song.

I was taught to run before I belonged,


to pack the joy before it could deceive.


I want to stay, but staying feels wrong.

Love flickers, and I move along,


pretend it’s mercy when I grieve.


Even comfort starts to sound like a warning song.

My calm is brief, my peace prolonged


just long enough to make me believe.


I want to stay, but staying feels wrong.

I was broken in young, the break lifelong,


and the gentlest hands can still make me heave.


Even comfort starts to sound like a warning song.

I want to rest, to be proved wrong,


to stop mistaking safety for reprieve.


I want to stay, but staying feels wrong.


Even comfort sounds like a warning song.