erveryone but me have some places to go.
they might need to back to thier houses, or some place we called home.
thought some might go somewhere far then where we belong.
there’s just me, I sometimes think I am the only one don’t have place to go.
the moment I realize I am always wondered a place to go, such as what I build at home.
home, I am always be here guardedly waiting them back, thought I am still alone.
more than love is that I am looking for.
more than hope is that I am standed for.
more than home is that I am waiting for.
that is why my heart is borke.
that is why I live with a hole.
I am not ok, but it have to put on hold.
crackup and crackup repeats again and again.
when will it finally ends?
no hate, no regret.
just can’t believe it anymore.
I am not the same like the others who might need a hug or being loved.
and I don’t need someone talk to, comforts neither.
this chapter is for records only.
and maybe for myself to stop crackup again from that night.
what I want the most?
I’ve already got, smoke and whisky are the choice always.