People miss home when they’re away. A room of one’s own, a last refuge to the battlegrounds of the world. A place where you can go to when everything goes wrong.

But what do we do when home stops feeling like home? When the sanctums of your room are no longer the safe haven of comfort that it once used to be?

Your room reminds you of drunken emotions, the lights are blinding and the yellow warmth turns into blue fluorescents that cut through your skin sharper than the shards of broken glass on your floor could.

Tell me, what do you do, when home isn’t home anymore? What do you do when you’re tired for days on end. Who cares about sleep when you’re working on the computer as dawn ignites on the eastern skies. When any semblance of normalcy escapes your grasp and all you’re left with are the emotional wounds of childhood.

Tell me, whoever you are,
why must one suffer for the sins of the father?