we buy houses
we decorate them with fancy furniture
bought from first class stores
in first class shopping malls
we pay through the roof for this furniture
and then we supplement it
with replicas of famous paintings
and busts of famous philosophers
or if you are in India
then with statues of flute playing gods
but even that is not enough to
make your house, your home
so you start filling it with people
first you bring in a wife
then a couple of kids
then maybe your old parents
your wife’s old parents
a dog
his pups
by that time you have mortgaged your entire existence
but you still don’t have enough to call your house
your home
all the paintings
the wife, the kids
and other beautiful things
never quite give you what you want
for you don’t know what you want
you think you want a home
so you take a mistress
then you take a couple more
maybe visit some whores too on drunk evenings
reluctantly of course
soon the pleasures of rotting flesh isn’t enough for you
so you take to gambling
at the betting dens
days spent away from the kids
who have learnt to judge their own father
the wife has quietly and professionally
turned senile
while you have found a new home
in drinking and heroin
sometimes in the stupor
you get glimpses of what you really want
but then those visions are a bitch
nevermind them
keep looking
someday you will find them
we all will find it
someday
that ever elusive home
the one we probably
wouldn’t need to decorate
or gamble for
I think people write songs about such stuff
but what do these coked up,
trans fiends know anyway?
