The Pathology of Perception

Unable to see the forest for the disease, unable to go home again,
home isn't there.  Home is that thing I can't find because it's something I've never lost,
I never lost the panicked anxiety, and the need to leave, home is that place in which my nervous
Paranoid perception hangs it's hat.
Home is where I want to be; it's never where I am.

Travel to and from, closer to, and further away from the land of my birth, and family, desperate to
Surround myself with familiar, familial faces, those who have to understand you, or at least
Pretend to.
Siblings and sympathy, survival and success all things are here, all things I may have lost along
The way.

Running away is impossible when home is in your head.  Like a tumour it reminds me of my
Mortality, reminds me of the elastic nature of family ties, reminds me of failure, reminds me of
Responsibility and the need for a cure.

Everywhere I run I find someone I want to run away from, I'm getting tired and rest doesn't come
Easy.  Sleepless nights, worries and fears traverse extraordinary distances with exceptional ease,
And efficiently and effectively entrench themselves in the deep recesses of my mind.  Altering my
Perception, lowering my defences, desperate and longing for comfort, like and open wound, Exposed, desperate for the attentions of others that will infect me like a virus.

Terrible are the thoughts I have.
Ambition, and inevitable defeat.
Anonymity is comfort, and comfort is distance.
Absence makes the heart grow stronger,
Stronger, and quieter, more content to perform it's necessary function rather than interfere with
The business of the mind, jealously competing for jurisdiction, and it all ends with self destructive

Heart and head, competitive reflection, unrelenting directionless desire to find that thing in myself
That I can easily identify in others, that thing that will provide me early warning, and allow me to
Stay off the rocks.

The rocks of the unwelcoming coastline of a transient home, and the cold high cliff walls of every
Place I'd rather be, the welcoming dark inevitable dangers associated with travel and motivation,
Ever present and always on the verge of invisibility.

Unrelenting are the thoughts I have.
Who and what is useful and avoidable.
Trapped in a web of unnecessary need,
Distant and uncomfortable.
Escape is the answer, escape from all those things that make me question my worth.

Reckless are the thoughts I have.
Disposable and forgettable are the people to whom I mean the most.
So tormented am I that I can't reciprocate emotion.
Solitude is release and punishment.

Unwelcome are the thoughts I have.
An end, too soon or perhaps too late, these are all the decisions that I make,
Decisions based on who hurts the least.
Put me down like a beloved sick pet, allow me the painless dignity of being remembered fondly.

Selfish are the thoughts I have.
Leaving is a state of mind,
The directions are lies I tell my self.

Happy and sedentary, chained to the ground by a wind that fails to blow.
The winds fail to blow, and change happens above me, 6 feet, 10 feet, 30 000 feet.  I'm below it
Below a world where interaction is common, coming and going are as inevitable as the seasons.
Kris Pittman